


Maid of Aspect Bright

by Ribbonshalos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), overwatch
Genre: AU, Actual Angel Mercy, Angst, Blood, F/M, Fluff, Genji and Mercy take a little trip down by the river, Hurt/Comfort, I'll add characters as I go along, Intense battle angel goddess of war, Lost of Wings, Oh look more Valkyries, Samurai!Genji, Slow Burn, Valkyrie!Mercy, Wounds, doctor stuff, like its really slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonshalos/pseuds/Ribbonshalos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Valkyrie must carry the souls of men slain in battle to the fields of Fólkvangr. Yet, she refuses Freyja's set fate upon one man of pure heart. Bringing him from the brink of death to live once again, she pays the price for her sin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know Mercy's name at the moment is 'Eir', but it will make sense later, just bear with me.

Poetic Edda

Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar

Unknown

Act II Line 7

 

“What wilt thou let accompany

the name of Helgi,

maid of aspect bright!

Since that thou art pleased to give me?

Think well over

what thou art saying.

I will not accept it,

unless I have thee also.”

 

The glint of the gold band covering the man’s finger flashes spotted colors. Red droplets of blood preventing the ring from throwing a singular slice of refracted light. She knows the meaning of it, the sign of marriage. Love. And now, the becoming of a widow.

Gathering his soul in her arms, she presses her staff through the air. The tip touching the gate and thus opening it. The soul sleeps as she guides them through, his form no longer punctured with holes as they leave the battle behind. Her feet step onto lush grass, all doused in a golden light from the never ending sun. Kneeling, she lays the soul in the field to rest. The warrior needing time before he awakes and joins the rest of the souls deeper in the valley.

Her head turns subconsciously to look at the ridge that stands highest above the valley, gazing at the throne where Freyja sits. She’s quick with fate, picking and choosing easily. Her decisions final and eternal. Freyja knows who to select, her Valkyries being just as such except for herself. It has always been easy for her sisters, but she herself has yet to pick a warrior’s fate to simply die with indisputable certainty.

Rotating on the balls of her feet, she pushes back through the gate. Returning to the fight. Cries and shouting echoing across the small area. Ringing of metal and bullets rushing through the air creates music that her hearing can’t seem to place a tempo to. Her sisters all flanking behind warriors whose spirits burn bright. No side is favored. Only the strongest earning aid from the Valkyrie. The unseen hostess’s supporting the fight and carrying souls away to rest in Fólkvangr as needed. They all hold their own motives at heart, doing as Freyja called them to perform.

Feeling a cry that calls to her very being, she spreads her white wings wide. The span behind twice as tall as she. The feathers feeling the slight rustle of the wind as she shifts on the balls of her feet. Staff settling into her fingers as she kicks off from the main battle ground, her wings carry her to a building that looms behind one side of the army. None of the mortal men able to see her ascension as she steps into a low balcony. Slipping between the double wide doors, she finds the soul calling out to her embodiment.

The wide area suggest it was once used for training. The space open with various objects littered off to the side of exercise and weapons. In the center, a man swings his sword at another. Her sister, Göll, allows her spear to aid one of the warriors. The energy giving him strength and vigor.

She is called out again. The soul’s last attempt. Göll’s warrior slicing through the other man. Sweeping his sword to and fro as he continues to attack the body now collapsed on the floor. The warrior’s armory is heavy and protecting, but the one he attacks wears little to no armor once so ever. Her lips part at the needless brutality, especially upon a person who was not equally prepared for the fight by the lack of armor, but what makes her wings flare out is the soul still being carried within the body. The heart still beating. The lungs still working.

“Göll, that is enough.” She shouts in a commands. Descending from the upper balcony, she gliding towards her eldest sister. The Valkyrie turns her head towards her, and with reluctances, stops overlooking the warrior. The energy from her spear dying out as Göll shifts her wings. The gray feathers spreading open as she watches her approach.

“He’s already gone,” She states, tilting her eyes back to the fight. “Your calling of peace should be used somewhere else. No need to waste yourself here.”

“My calling is where I chose to be, and I chose to stop this senseless brutality. There is no need for such intensity. He was struck down a long time ago.” Her voice firm as they both watch Göll’s warrior pull the sword out from between the man’s ribs.

Having lost the Valkyrie’s aid, he stops attacking. The long dark locks on his head are mattered in blood and sweat. He’s torso expanding and deflating quickly. His quick gasps audible and shivering. As he steps back, the sword slips from his pale hand. The metal spraying blood and clattering piercingly against the wooden floor.

“He’s a fierce one,” Göll jerks her head to her warrior, her two braids of umber slapping against her chest plate. “That’s his own brother he just slain. He was dishonored, but this warrior had the strength to do what needed to be done.”

Gazing from her proud sister to her warrior, she takes in his trembling form, and the broken body resting at his feet. The man’s chest still rises, but only barely. The warrior unable to see that, any mortal mistaking him dead.

Dead he tremble because that is his brother laying bleeding on the floor?

“Genji…” The warrior whispers, his shoulders heaving as he turns away. His face is a mask of horror, as if seeing the body is a shock to him. Eyes wide open, never blinking, as streams of tears mix with the blood on his cheeks. She can see his righteous heart, but she can also sense his dread, his guilt.

He could never be her warrior.

His steps are stiff and slow, painful to move away. Then, he begins running, fleeing his victory. Going to the back of the house, He exits through a side door, not returning to the fight. Göll watches him go with a victorious spread of her lips, teeth baring at his retreating figure.

“Truly a warrior meant for my spear’s power.” She buzzes to herself, satisfied and enthralled. She turns, spreading her wings towards the battle. Then hesitating, she gestures with her weapon to the fallen as an afterthought.

“Care for this soul, Eir. I’ll return to the fight.” Flapping her wings, two large clouds of gray tinged feathers with traces of cerulean, she flies to the double wide doors. Seeking another warrior worthy of her aid.

Turning back to the man lying on the ground, her wings fold against her spine as she approaches him with soft steps. Carefully holding her wings as the length of them almost touches the ground. Folding her knees, and pressing her wings close as to not graze the floor, she rests besides the bleeding man. His face is unrecognizable, blood and gore spilling across every inch of skin. She does, however, pick out green locks of hair that spike upwards. Mortals have always had strange ways of decorating their body, this one was no exception.

Settling her staff to the side, she brushes a finger along the mangled jaw, and a soft moan slips from his throat. Blood coats her finger.

“Hush. You may rest now, warrior.” She murmurs. As she cleans the blood off of her finger using her tunic, she marvels that he’s still alive. Bleeding at this rate, he’ll be dead in a matter of minutes. Yet, he still breathes, fighting for life.

As she gripes her staff once again, she falters for a moment. Fate has been rested upon the man, Freyja decreeing he dies today. He keeps living though, bleeding on the floor.

Her center aches, gazing at the green hair, to the eyelids that tremble slightly as air chokes in his lungs. Her hands stiff, and unwilling to open the gate.

He called for her, she must at least let him see her. To know he is not alone in dying. To give him comfort in his last moments.

Letting her staff settle in one hand, she reaches the other one out. Pressing her palm softly against his chest, above his fighting heart. The cloth and skin identical ribbons of shredded pieces, all stained the same red color. She calls to his soul, giving him peace from the agony his body is enduring. Allowing his heart to speak.

Pulses of liveliness radiate from his frame. Confidence and sureness set into his bones. His skin speaking of kisses and scars and bruises that it had received through the years. A deep, rooted love centered into his spine. For a brother, and a friend. A childhood of singing and laughter. Of a sure older sibling always at his side. However, a bitter anger had choked the roots a long time ago. The heart’s desire overtaking the brain’s thoughts. Lastly, a fear for a life that he didn’t live fully. Sharp regret stabbing through his ribcage just like the sword moments ago.

Eir lets out a soft gasp when she feels the last remaining roots. A string of life revived in the last moments. A renewed love for his brother, and sadness. Worry. Her own heart touching his for one second before pulling her hand away from his mangled torso.

Gripping her staff with renewed confidence, she accepts him as her warrior. A soft golden light matching the tips of her wings spreads out over him as it flows from her staff. Through her blessing, the skin begins setting back against bone and muscle, and her warrior begins healing.

Knowing full well that she’s superseding fate’s design, she brings him back from death. Spreading her white wings with gold dipped tips over his body, she gives him life. Letting his heart beat strong, the pulse reassures her.

As he breathes in his first renewed breath, Freyja’s angry comes upon her. Eir recoils from her power, feeling her feathers tremble at Freyja’s wraith. Yet, she does not retract her covering of her warrior. Wings still spreading above him as an act of accepting him as her own. Her wings fearing her own sin, but not wishing for redemption.  

It has always been easy for her sisters, but she herself has yet to pick a warrior’s fate to simply die with indisputable certainty.


	2. Heart

As a small sound of pain escapes her lips, her staff falls from her hands. Her warrior is healed, but he rests under waves of fatigue and recovery. Unconscious to the world, his eyelashes twitch at her cry.

Eir’s title of Valkyrie is ripped away from her center in a single bolt of red lightning. Her breath escaping her mouth in an inaudible gasp as Freyja’s anger and punishment crashes into her spine. She falls forward, hands spraying across the wood floor as her back arches. Tips of her fingers almost touching shredded pieces of cloth draping from her warrior. She bows from the pain. Her teeth smashed together as she braces herself as the worst is yet to come. All of Freyja’s power becomes focus into two tearing sensations as her wings begin to rip from her back.

This is her punishment, but no guilt burns her soul as her wings begin to tear from their junction on her flesh.

Crying out, she calls for her sisters as the pain nearly blinds her. The white and gold tipped feathers scattering around her sides as they touch the ground for the first time. Freyja’s anger slicing through tendons and feathers and bones. In one final bolt of red fury, two white wings tumble to the ground in heavy thuds of finality.

As she loses her name, her wings and her title of goddess of war, she falls to the floor. The first encounter she had ever had with the mortal’s ground. Her head dropping on her warrior’s chest as she gasps with the agony. Burning cords of anguish whipping out through her back. Liquid begins to pool into the tunic and armor that covers her torso. She falters, feeling mortality overwhelm her being. Her warrior’s bloody but warm chest brings a sliver of comfort in the dark abyss she’s been hurled into.

With a weak push, she leans up on her arms. Her throat choking up from the torn stumps that now decorate her back. The muscles and bones along her spine set fire in ragging agony. Her single heavy braid of white gold hair draping over her shoulder. The silver ring knotted into the end of her roped hair drags against the floor. With a turn of her head, the silver ring clinking against the ground, she watches the slow destruction of her once untouchable wings. Freyja’s wraith descends upon them. Her eyes forced to watch. 

The base is stained with blood and rustled feathers. It all slowly slips into a state of gray, tainting a piece of her soul with it. Bit by bit, the dark erosion eats away the rest of her wings. The structure crumbling into ash. Her chest tightens with a dark cord that threatens to crush her. Her stare unable to look away from the dying glory that once was her. A bolt of pain that mirrors Freyja’s wraith hits her center, her being crumbling.

Her wings. Her glory. Her purpose. All lost to the mortal dirt.

A sob rips through her chest, staining against the black cord. For one moment, she wonders if Freyja wishes to kill her. Yet, her heart still beats four more times before the foolish thought is shoved side.

To be a fallen Valkyrie is a fate worst then death.   

Her eyes fall back to the mortal man lying in front of her. He breathes, soft but lively. His heart beats.

Her warrior…

He needs her to care for him. He’ll die if they stay at this battle.

All thoughts of dark cords and burning stumps and crushing ribs are thrown aside. Her duty pushing her past pain that threatens to stun her. Her warrior’s beating heart the only echo left in her mind.

Stiffly, her legs shift underneath her. Now kneeling beside her warrior, her gaze tries to avoid the dark piles of snow. The dust forcing remembrance and sucking into her lungs. Threatening to choke her on the reality she now faces. Try as she might, her trembling hands still reaches around her torso. Fingers sensing the two bloody stumps in between her shoulder blades. The ruined flesh flaring up at her touch.

Pulling her hand back into view, she lets out a soft cry at the blood that paints her fingertips. Eyes seeing but her heart refusing the red paint and the destructive pain. In all of her time of existing, she has never felt the need to fight for air. Lungs betraying her as they collapse inside of her chest. Letting her crumble like her wings.

“What did you do?” comes the stunned voice. She turns upon the ground, pain flaring up in her back at the movement. Her eldest sister’s shock expression scans her and the ash that surrounds in a loose half circle. Göll’s hands wrap around the shaft of her spear with a hard intensity. Crossing her weapon in front of her chest as if to separate her from what she sees, her wings tensed in sharp angles of grey.

At her sister’s abysmal staring, there is no wondering what she sees her as now. Mortal. Fallen. Lost. She has been forsaken of Freyja’s favor. She can longer help mortal men as a true Valkyrie. She is no longer a goddess of war.

She is without her dear wings. Her very embodiment gone without a trace of smoke to follow.  

“Please…” She begs foolishly, knowing no one can restore what was just destroyed. Yet her burning chest demands a cry for aid. Her mind lost to sense and logic as she reaches for comfort. “Help me.”

Göll’s parted lips twitch, eyes sweeping from the ashes, to her, and to her chosen warrior. The sight of the mortal man, healed and breathing, causes clarity to slams down on the Valkyrie. Switching her spear to rest in one hand, she shoves the bottom of the shaft against the floor in a fury of quick motion. Göll stabs one finger at her fallen sister. Gray wings resembling dark clouds of terrible storms.

“By the law of Freyja you have fallen. There is no help for you.” She curls her lip, stone cold features replacing the shock.

“Göll,” She whispers, one bloody hand still hanging in the air towards the Valkyrie. A dark syrup keeps filling the space between the threads of her tunic along her back. The source of it leaking from her wounds. “I’m your Eir.”

Her lips are set tight against her frozen face. Gray eyes as stone that crushes her underneath its gaze. Disgusted at what she’s done. Revolted by her falling.

“You are no longer Eir for you have lost your wings.” She speaks, cold and sharp as the tip of her spear. “I do not know your name, Fallen Valkyrie.”

It’s a truth she now bares but it causes her to flinch. Those two words falling from her sister’s mouth. She keeps clinging to a mad, senseless fight that promises her wings and her titles back at the victory, but she has no favor. As she falls down, the fading fight only leaves her gasping for air as realization hits her sternum. Cracking her bones into spiderlike web designs, almost shattering her into broken pieces. The purpose of overseeing her warrior barely gluing her marrow together. 

She is not Eir. She is not a true Valkyrie. She is without wings. She has a warrior to oversee.

The new lightness that rests against her spine compresses her. The weightlessness making her feel detached. Not of this world. Her body balance off. No longer having to compensate for the weight that used to rest against her back. In a small burst of horror, she searches, but she can no longer see the gate.

She truly is forsaken by Freyja.

“I need guidance. I beg of you, give me your aid.” She whispers, bringing her stained hands to wrap around her torso. Fingers grazing against ripped flesh and bloody cloth and sticky armor. Agony jolting her bones. The mortal man is her only comfort as Göll shakes her head in slow abhorrence, rejecting her as well.

“Why did you cut Fate’s strings for this one mortal? My warrior already killed him, you should have taken him through the gate.” Her hot words attacking her physically, causing her to flinch back.

"He has a pure heart.” She confesses, looking up at the Valkyrie. “He still loves, even with hate and corruption killing his family. I could not let this man die.”

Her face scrunches in confusion. Her fingers tightening around the shaft of her spear.

“Eir—You…” Her head turns away for one moment, wincing from stumbling along a name that no longer belongs to anyone. “I never saw you as a fool… You were the last sister I thought would fall to man.”

“Göll,” She speaks. The wavering of her sisters words hitting her. Realizing now that her anger stems from losing her closest sister. “I did not mean to harm you like this. Please, forgive me.”

The Valkyrie jerks her head, teeth barred in fury as she shifts her spear and shoves the sharp head in the direction of her warrior.

“You’ve lost everything now, because of _him_.” She growls, wings flaring at her own intensity. “He is not worth your fall. Your title. Your wings…” She trails off, her always confidence sister losing vigor.

“He is not worth you.” She cast her gaze away. Shoulders sagging under her silver armor.

The dark cord cracking her ribcage slithers up to her throat, and tightens on her skin. A shuddering breath pushes out of her lungs that she recognizes as a sob of her sister’s name.

“I know he is not meant to leave to Fólkvangr. He has a beautiful soul. There is still a purpose for him on this world.” She spills the truth of her heart, hoping her sister can see her red walls and beating muscles. “And if I must be his guardian for that time, then so be it.”

Dropping her spear to her side, Göll grants her one last expression. The stiffness of her lips, the drawn brow, and lastly the gray eyes that soften to rainclouds. Turning away, umber braids whip through the air. She flares her wings out in an act of rejection. The show of gray feathers a mocking gesture to what she’s lost.  

Her hand clutches at her chest at that action. The deed stinging her nerves throughout her entire system. So much red that leaks from her heart combines with her bleeding stumps. The concoction drips up and down her spine.

“You shouldn’t have saved him.” Göll utters. With a sharp beat of her wings, she launches up to the double doors. The last sound of flight echoing within her mind as the Valkyrie disappears.

The bite her sister left still punctures her skin. The sharp impressions of teeth causing her eyelids to press shut for one moment in darkness.

She is utterly alone. Göll left her bleeding, wingless and with her unconscious warrior beside her. In the silence that booms inside her skull, her reality drop onto her shoulders. The weight threatening to snap her collarbones. Her very mortal body seemingly ready to give out. A choked breath moving past her blocked throat as she fights the panic.

A soft sound rises beside her, and she stills. The sound comes again. She lifts her eyelids to her warrior resting on the ground with bloody clothes and scarred skin. Chest quietly rising and falling. Eyelashes trembling.

Swallowing, she breathes in and out. The dark cords slipping off her shoulders as she takes in her warrior’s condition.

He is still alive, and her duty is still to him. She will not waste her gift by letting him stay here just to be slaughter in his heavy sleep.

Her staff still resides beside her. Shaking fingers curl around the center as she uses it to rise up. Her muscle movement attacks her nervous system. Pain protesting the effort of her shoulder blades and vertebra. A sharp inhale through teeth. Slow, careful motions as grips her staff to aid in standing.

Clenching her jaw, she twists her torso. Sharp whips of ache snapping through her upper back as her fingers attaches the staff to her belt. She bares her teeth to keep from crying out. The white iron rod now in position. The sleek staff resting along the back of her ribcage on the leftmost side. With her hands now free, she moves to the head of her warrior. Feeling her mortal body now, her goddess strength and power has left her in a trembling state. Her walk unstable and unsure. Feet clicking against the ground in a soft, meaningless noise. The realization of her weakness causing her heart to beat against her ribs.

In her entire existence, she has never felt such powerlessness. She can hardly even breathe, much less care for her warrior at the moment.

The thoughts of her weakness are shoved aside, knowing her warrior must be cared for.

Kneeling as best as she can whilst not falling over, her hands reach out and cup gently against the nape of his neck. An orange scarf loosely wraps around his shoulders. She’s careful to not get blood on the cloth. Lifting his head, she places him on her lap. Her fingers now resting against the side of his throat, wrists touching his cheeks. She leans over, taking him in.

For one moment, a fingertip touches his green hair. She lets herself breathe out. Her warrior giving her the only comfort she can grab onto at the moment. His soft breathing reassuring her that she still has him.

With a pause in her train of thought, she finds she can’t keep calling her warrior simply that. She knows what Göll’s warrior called him, but she must give him his own. He deserves a title. He is deemed worth of it.

“Heart,” She breathes out, her palm remembering the connection she had open between them in his dying moments. His burning skin and red blood resting against her hand in that small piece of time. The taste of the single word sweet on her tongue.

She leans close enough that her lips gaze against the shell of his ear. In a soft whisper, she says, “Heart, you need to wake for a few moments. I’ll be here to protect you, but you must assist me.”

With a single touch, her staff hums to life beside her. A stream of blue engulfing his figure. His eyelids flutter open, but his resuscitation has left him drained of any real spirit. Trailing her hands down his collarbones, she hooks her arms under his. An exasperated gasp escaping her as she pulls him up to his feet. His legs barely stepping against the ground as she winds one of his arm across her shoulders. Mindfully to keep his touch from her wounds that continue to freely bleed down her back. She then tucks her arm around his waist, trying to take as much weight as possible without collapsing.

“Stay with me, Heart.” She urges as she turns their bodies around, now beginning to cross the floor. She feels his bursts of conscious, fingers twitching against her shoulder armor, his disrupted breathing. His head trying to lift. Even with him somewhat holding himself up as they stagger towards an exit, she still holds half his weight. Muscles scream in protest at the exercitation she forces them to endure. Shards of pain firing away from the stubs between her shoulder blades. She mashes her teeth together as she drags her warrior forward. His breathy bursts slipping into words.

“…Hanzo…” He murmurs. The words jumbled between soft huffs of air. She doesn’t give it proper attention, the name meaning nothing to her.

As a door comes into view along the backside of the building, she pushes her steps harder. Her warrior trying to stumble along. She loathes that she must wake and move him in such a state. Yet the only other choice is to remain here and be at the whim of any soldier that comes through. From what she gathers from Göll’s boasting of her warrior, her own was dishonored. This only strikes fear of even his own people coming down to kill him once again.

She can’t allow that to happen.

Even now as she half carries him to safety, she wonders on how his loving heart could receive such a dishonor. Earning such a brutal death. His soul not matching the description of his infamous title.          

“…Angel…” Comes the breathy whisper, and she tilts her head to look at his faltered form. The movement jolting her wounds, but she doesn’t allow herself to waver. His eyelids twitch but never truly open for more than a moment.

She knows what mortals think of her kind, if any have ever been so lucky as to see her or her sisters. Angel was always a word used. Sometimes demon. Sometimes goddess. Fallen men only get a glimpse of them if they are favored and resurrected. Their sight on the Valkyrie never stays long as the battle rages on. Their unseen hostess still guiding them through the fight.

Pushing open the door with the prodding of her foot, she slips them through without falling over. Encountering the line of thick trees spreading deep into a forest, she tightens her hold on her warrior before pressing forward. Her hand pressing against skin and ripped cloth. Fingertip feeling marred flesh and hard muscle draped around ribs. The grass and brush making it difficult to keep him up more than ever.

As they step into the tree line, her sister’s stories fill her head. Göll has only had mortal eyes set upon her twice in her existence, and her sisters had have similar experiences. She herself was always careful, thus resulting in never having a mortal man see her. Though only the second eldest of the Valkyrie, she had been favored for her wisdom.

_I never saw you as a fool…_

Göll’s words burn across the corners of her mind. The sting of her rejection still poisoning her veins. Gritting her jaw, she focuses on avoiding a tree in their path.

In an attempt to escape the pain echoing inside of her, her brain gives her an out. A swell of pride pushes away the sting of wounds against her back for just one moment. She acknowledges that this warrior is the only one to have ever seen her. Though she is fallen, she is still his Valkyrie. She feels no regret in choosing him.

Pressing her fingers tighter against a slip in his clothes, she takes comfort in her resolution as the shadows of trees cast over them.


	3. Stained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you reading this. I'm glad to know that you all love Gency as much as I do!

The soft trickling of tumbling water pierces through her muddled mind first. Then, the warmth that pools around her chest and neck. Her cheek resting against a mess that sticks to her skin.

Jerking her head up as awareness slams down on her mind, the bloody cloth rips away from her face. The quick separating promising dry blood on her already stained cheeks. Looking down, an orange scarf is spotted with drops of red. The color bleeding into pools over his tunic.

At remembering the situation, her cheeks burn. Slowly, she places both hands on the grassy ground on either side of him as silently as possible. Lifting herself off of him without disturbing his slumber. At the movement, she bites the inside of her cheek. Two spots between her shoulder blades sparking pain at the small motions. Her own lost still burning her back. Slipping down to his side, she rests against the grass. Her breath is too quick for that one simple action, her face too hot. Her spine aches, and the back of her tunic is stiff and sticky with blood. 

It was necessary to rest on top of him during their sleep. To convey warmth through the chilly spring night. It was for her and her warrior’s sake.

Then why must she react so flustered at being so closed to him?

Without reaching an answer, she brushes her braid of hair back. Feeling it’s presence against her wounds, and immediately taking it back between her fingers. She doesn’t want to worry about blood on her hair of all things.

Breathing out softly through her mouth, she gazes over to the river they collapsed beside. Marveling at the miracle that let them get to even here. 

The actual travel to the riverbank took longer than her muscles would have preferred. When they did reach it however, she and her warrior collapsed onto a little meadow surrounded by trees. As exhausted as she was, she still had to flip the man on his backside, before prompting pressing close against his bloody torso. The spring night was bitterly cold. Her head was so close to his heart that the beat was a reassurance while she slept.

Now that the sun is high above them, the heat is starting to soak into her center. Warming her soul only a few degrees. Her warrior still sleeps, and that’s no surprise. From the sort of resurrection she performed, he’ll continue resting for a few more days at least. That’s not counting the exercitation she forced him to endure so they could hobble to safety. Being near the riverside offers no protection or shelter whatsoever, though it does give water when needed. Even with the rest received from last night, she refuses to move him for a few more hours at least. He needs the time to recover, and she needs to assess their situation better.

Her shoulders shifts, and she inhales a sharp breath at the movement. Now rising to a sitting position. Breathing heavily through her nose, she focuses beyond the sting, favoring looking at the dark stains on his body instead. His clothes ruined beyond recognition.

Tucking her legs underneath her, she kneels along his left side. Eyes noting the blood covering the front of her once glorious armor, dark and dry. Ignoring the itching feeling of dry stains covering her cheek, she races through her mind. Brain echoing the words of thousands of people all at once. The many faces and directions and hand movements engulfing her entire thoughts. The proper procedures, the correct set up, the right way to approach the situation, all within her memories.

The blood needs to be washed off his skin, and finding something to replace the torn strips of cloth he now wears is essential. She needs to look for food and water as well. The river besides her echoes a soft reminder of its presence, offering reassurance for at least the time being. Food is another matter, and her stomach now twists with a foreign feeling.

With a shaky inhale, she now endures her first true spell of hunger. Never before has the craving for food been so strong, and her mortal body is calling out to it desperately.

Its importance is of nothing now, her warrior needing her full attention. With only her staff, armor and clothing, she turns her head to search the area. The rushing water a soft sound, and the trees providing at least a little hideaway in the grassy grove they rest in. It’s the best she can manage with at the moment, and having no other materials, she hovers over her warrior. Overlooking the orange cloth filled with stains of red, she breathes out deeply.

Fingers rip the ring of metal that once donned her brow as a symbol of honor and power off her head. The decorated wings shimmering in her palms for one moment. Muscles in her fingers tremble slightly at the sight of it, and what it once crowned her as. With a tight breath, she flings it away with one hand into the river. She doesn’t wait to hear the clink of the metal touching a stone upon the river bed.

That is no longer hers to wear.  

Her hands quickly strip herself of the steel blue chest plate. Resting it aside while clamping her jaw tight from the pain that shoots out of her spine. Her wounds not agreeing with raising her arms above her head. Next she’s tearing off her tunic to expose her undergarments. A loose white camisole the only protection against the cold air. The tunic is stiff and stained from her own blood but thick and mostly usable. Holding it out in front of her, she does her best to avoid shivering. The spring day nips at her skin, creating goosebumps up and down her arms.

Draping the tunic across her lap, her eyes dart to the man. A small whispering of words wondering if he’ll disappear from her if she doesn’t keep constant watch upon him. Nonsense that is quickly shoved aside. 

Freeing her seax from its sheath, she shifts the tunic onto the grass. This causes her body to tilt slightly away from her warrior, but she holds her head to keep him in her line of sight. Her hands making quick work of the cloth. The blade slices off a strip of unstained and clean section of the tunic that still bares the remembrance of her body temperature. Taking the cut portion in her hand, she slips her fingers around her staff with the other. It acts as a crutch to help her stand. She covers up a squeak of pain from escaping her throat at the movement of her back.

Hobbling to the water, she dunks the makeshift rag into the stream, ringing out the excess water out. Upon returning to her warrior, she stops at his head.

All that blood on his face, and she doesn’t even know what he truly looks like.

Brushing her tongue across the inside of her teeth, she kneels down gently as to not provoke her wounds. Her staff laying in the grass beside her. With careful movements, she lifts his head upon her lap. Her fingers linger on his skin, eyes gazing at his face. The colored hair as vibrant as the meadow that rests upon his head. His eyelashes are coated with dried blood, not even twitching at her touch.

Brushing one finger against a lock that strays against his forehead, his warmth blooms at her touch. The reassurance widening her airways to allow easier breaths.

“I’m still here, Heart. I’ve got you,” She whispers to his closed eyelids. She’s not certain why she talks to him even though he sleeps.

Tightening her grip around the wet cloth, she begins to clean his skin. Gentle strokes taking the red off of his cheeks. Carefully scrubbing away at his chin and jawline, and finding even his throat is doused in the dark liquid. She’s only halfway through with cleaning his face when she retreats back to the river to wash the rag clean and continue again.

She clicks her tongue lightly as she kneels back down, resting his head once again in her lap.

“Blood stains are the hardest to clean out. Especially when it’s dry. Did you know that?” She speaks aloud, looking from the once brown colored tunic to his still face.

At the silence that follows, it presses in on her. The points as daggers digging into her mind. For one fleeting moment, her fingers slip down the strong column of his throat, just to feel his pulse against her skin. The beat slow but steady.

She lets out a deep breath, recovering from her own lapse of judgment.

“I promised I’d watch over you, didn’t I, Heart.” She whispers the attempt of joking, but it’s dry and brittle coming out of her throat. At least the illusion that he’s listening giving her a little comfort. Though, she may seem mad to any passerby if there were any.

She dabs at his eyeline, carefully taking the blood off and revealing dark lashes. Then scrapes blood off the corner of his jawline. Hands gentle and soft for the procedure. Her wrists brushing against his colored hair, the sensation ticklish.

“Hmm,” She muses lightly, “I would like to know why you chose to make your hair green, but that’s a question for when you awake. I’ll be patient until then, but that’s more of my sister Róta’s specialty then mine.”

It may be madness, but she continues on to tell his unconscious form of her sisters. The talking, and the mindless motions giving her a little comfort. Thoughts of her family helping her stay anchored to the moment of time while she cleans the blood off her warrior.

The rag stained, but her warrior’s face now in full view of the sun, she stops in her movements. Setting the filthy rag down beside her so both her hands can cup his now visible face. Leaning over with much protest from her wounds, she looks at him.

His face is marred with thick lines of pink. Crisscrossing sewn skin that covers his face in a blanket of threads. His green hair still prevails, but is stained with blotches of blood that she has yet to remove. She can just see the roots of ebony colors peeking out of his scalp. His lips are parted, blood stains his teeth.

He’ll bear this mark of escaping death for as long as he lives. A sharp sting poisons her heart at the thought of what she could do if only she had her wings. She could have made every scar disappear with a simple wave of her staff. Yet, she cannot forget that it was Göll’s warrior who did this to him, much less his own brother.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she manages to avoid drawing blood and focuses on the task at hand. Though she is wounded and powerless at the moment, she will not fail her warrior.

Now addressing the blood on his torso, she moves and sits beside his torso. His shirt is beyond use, so she cuts it away with quick strokes of her seax. The orange scarf is set safely aside, and she wonders if she dares attempts to wash the blood from it after she’s done with his body. 

Removing the blood takes much longer and requires more trips to the river just because of the amount resting on his skin. The muscles are still hard and marbled, even though the skin is covered in scars. She wipes the red away, revealing more pink lines cutting all over his chest. Clearing most of it from his torso, she rests her palm against his chest for one moment. His heart beating through to the tips of her fingers. After his reassurance, she continues on.

She does her best to avoid lingering on his strong figure more than necessary. The scars have no effect on her, and of course all warriors are strong and muscular, but it’s different being this close to one. This particular one also being hers. Nevertheless, she is his Valkyrie and she will care for him. Though, her eyes can’t help but notes that his body is as if crafted by the very hands of Odin himself.

The thought causes blood to flood her cheeks. Even with her being alone and her warrior unconscious, she still becomes flustered. She has to stop a moment in washing away the blood on his left side to breathe and look up at the sun filled sky.

Driving her thoughts into one singular point of cleaning him up, and nothing else, she works away. Hands always moving and rag filling quickly with blood before needing to be rinsed again. Eventually her mind wanders away from marbled chests and stunning physiques. Worry begins to fill her head to the brim.

He’ll need food when he awakes, and even though the river is close, she doesn’t dare make him move nor know how to bring the water to him. She has nothing besides her staff, seax and chest plate of armor. Mortal’s need gold to get supplies. She possesses none. As much as the thought fills her mouth with a poisonous flavor, she’ll need to leave him and go find food.

If possible, she’ll wait until he’s awake. She loathes risking the chance of him coming back to the waking world alone and unsure of his fate. She can hold out. Mortals can survive weeks without food if needed. A few days won’t harm her.

Shelter is a completely different issue, but at the moment, she chooses to not focus on it.

With his torso clean, she drapes her tunic across him. Avoiding getting the bloody parts on his skin. Her reasoning is to protect him from the elements, but a part of her knows she’ll be sneaking peeks at the pectorals his body boasts of. She needs to stay on task and finish it.

With a flush of red on her cheeks, she moves to his legs. It’s nowhere near as bloody as his torso was, but nevertheless he needs to be cleaned. She’s not shy of bodies. She’s seen them all, but it feels odd since this is him. Heart. She wishes to respect him, but must also do her duty.  

She cuts away her warrior’s trousers, leaving his underwear be. Even his legs are strong and covered in scars. She thinks of her sisters in a way of distraction, and their thoughts towards her if they saw her now.

They would all wear the same mask of shame and confusion and hurt as Göll did. Seeing her mortal form without wings. Doing labor that a Valkyrie would never even consider. Fawning over one single warrior. Going against Freyja’s fate for one man. All ashamed and pained by what she’s done.

_ I never saw you as a fool… _

She flinches, pausing with the rag resting on his left calf. Breathing out of her mouth, she scrubs off the dry blood from his skin more cautiously than needed.

Her sisters’ love is true and sincere. She knows this. Their battles were great and glorious. Their warriors almost always claiming victory. They would fly through the skies of Fólkvangr, or stand besides Freyja’s throne overlooking the valley. Her sisters always a familiar presence that once surrounded her.

Though Göll is the eldest, and her only being second, her younger sisters often sought her consolation. She cared for them, giving them aid that was not of the battle. Because of this, they all looked to her when they needed help. She’s the clear minded one. She knows how to make the pain go away. Or help the agony of losing a warrior under their watch slip into something more endurable. Her words of comfort giving them safety and reassurance.

Yet, most of her sisters disagree with her more… compassionate nature. Only one sister understood her need to protect life. Brynhildr always favored her over the others. She never questioned why she chose warriors that were healers, or doctors. She never questioned why she stayed on the battlefield watching the medics work even though the fight was long over. She supported her quiet resolution to learn the art of mortal medicine, rather than look for the warriors that would easily strike their enemies down.

They had a close bond, but now, the rest of her sisters must know of what has become of her. She can picture the pain on her youngest sister’s face, searing into her brain like Göll’s expression of horror upon finding her wingless. Brynhildr would try to understand, but even she couldn’t really know why she did what she did. Her perfect heart cracking at her actions.

She pulls the dirty rag away from her warrior’s newly washed legs. Her fingers trembling even with the blood stained cloth stationed between her fingers.

It is no help to dwell on things that cannot be changed.

As she stands to go wash the rag clean, she overlooks her warrior’s body. His only item of clothing is his undergarments. The ruined clothing he once donned now resting in a pile at his feet. His exposed skin is cut into hundreds of pink lines, his chest is especially decorated. She stops, pressing the rag between her hands and twisting it fretfully. The fading sun casts a yellow glow over her back. It will be dark soon, and both of them have little then less ideal clothing for the cold night creeping upon them.

Nails pressing into the rag in frustration, she ponders of where she could possible go to find both of them clothing and food. The last thing she wants to do is leave him alone, but the cold weather will do more damage then they can endure at the moment.

Twisting the rag tighter, she turns and moves to the river. Her actions more out of muscle memory than anything else.

Kneeling down, she muses of where she could obtain supplies. Stealing is an option, but she doesn’t trust her chances with her wounds and weaken body. Not to mention the risk of men coming upon them in the middle of the night.

Dumping the rag into the water, its cool texture laces through her fingers. The dying light catching the glint of metal through the blueness of the stream. Her eyes shift to a gold and silver band. The decorated wings flashing light through the water. The very same crown she ripped off her brow and threw away.

And she knows it’s worth more than its weight in gold.


	4. Sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Mercy has a little break down. She's just tired okay?

The crown is slick in her grasp, but her fingers wrap around the band with firm purpose. Her warrior’s own tattered tunic covering her body. The clothing is loose and torn on her torso. A few washes in the river took the worst of the blood stains out.

She steps through a door as a buzzer announces her presence. The crown pressing against her left hip. One hand is reaching up into the ruined shirt and over to keep the crown in place, her arm acting as a strap over her torso. Her other hand brushes against her seax. It’s weight holstered along her lower back. Her eyes darting through the almost desolate store with wary looks. Though, her gaze is sharp, it only mimics the pain echoing in her head. Her temples enduring heavy hits from a hammer that’s aim is to crack her skull wide open.

Her own tunic is keeping her warrior covered. It’s a poor substitute, but it’s giving him warmth and protection at the moment. Just until she can get back to him with supplies. Her warrior’s almost destroyed shirt acts as a covering for her chest plate. Not wanting to wander through the masses with the look of a warrior. Her staff also resides back at the riverside. Wolf in sheep’s clothing comes to her mind as she brushes past a mortal women looking over bins of fruit. 

No. It’s as if she’s the sheep lost in a pack of wolves, and her own disguised is that of a dark pelt covering her back. Hiding her wounds. Tucking away the pain in her temples.

She slips past two men talking. Their words incoherent as they point at varying items of food. Keeping her head level but avoiding eye contact conveys confidence but not egotism. She can’t appear meek and a target. Though only a fool would fight a Valkyrie. It’s still a needed precaution as she can’t risk anymore injury.

She's takes items of food that appear non-perishable. Several bags of dry strips of meat, pudding, applesauce, odd granola shaped rectangles, peanut butter crackers, tomato juice in tin cans, and dried fruit. She holds this all in the crook of her arm pressing against her ribcage. Refusing to let go of the crown even though it’s securely tied to her belt. 

As the scent of food touches her nose, her stomach twists. A grumbling sound coming from inside that she’s never heard before.

Hunger.

How can mortals stand to even go a day with this feeling? The deprivation and headache seem determined to push to her knees. The emptiness of her belly making her keep a careful grip on the food in her arms. A bitter flavor spreads across her tongue at the new experience. Her aching thoughts don't let her dwell on it for long. 

She inhales. Pushing above her physical needs to go get clothing and bandages for her warrior and herself. Straightening her spine, she continues onward. All other considerations shoved aside saved for the man waiting for her in a grassy meadow.

The first clothing items come into view. She picks items immediately, but only after deeming them reasonable. Guessing sizes as she drapes the apparel over her shoulder. The weight presses on her wounds, but it’s just another ache in her body that she shoves aside. Also throwing in two heavy backpacks as she passes by them along. Even finding a large plastic cup that will help get water from the river.

At last, she acquires a box that proclaims first aid. It’s nowhere near the degree she’s seen on the battle field that her warriors have often used, but it will do. Also as a precaution, she has grabbed extra shirts. Preparing for the need of more bandages if the situation arises.

Several mortals pass her on her journey to the owners of the store. Most giving her odd stares. She doesn’t look back. Her chin held level while she walks with a small swagger. Her back is straight. Her legs moving towards her destination. No wolves will sense her fear, her weakness. They will never sense the fatigue running through her body. The weariness, the need for substance and help.

A robotic, manlike machine is moving behind a counter. It’s work quick and clothing uniformed.

Omnic. That’s the name for them, she recalls.

“ _Heill!_ ” She immediately clears her throat, switching to her other familiar tongue. She doesn’t dare speak Japanese and risk suspicion of herself. Though she is without wings, she still possesses the gift of languages. With her obvious foreign looks, she hopes to past as at least European. “Excuse me, I wish to pay for this items.”

The omnic dons silver plates over its body. Three glowing dots form a triangle on their forehead. They turn at her address, straightening up and placing one hand on a box like machine behind the counter. Their helm stays on her a beat longer, taking in her full appearance.

Is her disguise that off balance? Perhaps she looks too much like a sheep to hope her camouflage works.

"Of course. Place your items here,” The voice is robotic and weaved through with male overtones. He gestures to the open space beside the box he uses with his other hand. She dumps the supplies on the counter, sucking in a soft inhale as the burden lightens.

The omnic swipes all her items over a clear plate. Each swipe beeping with a sound sound. He puts all her supplies in dark colored bags. She notes with relief that the bags have handles.

“Okay, what kind of card will you paying with today?” He asks, one metallic palm stretching out and waiting.

“I’d like to pay with this,” She answers. Slipping the crown out from under her shirt, she places it into his waiting palm. A dark cord tightening around her rib cage with the action. Part anxiety and part grief at having to give the circlet up crushing her lungs.

“Ma’am we don’t—wait.” The omnic stops to grasp the crown in both hands. He holds it it up to eye level while his mechanical body lets off soft whirling sounds.

“My sensory are reading this as pure gold and silver.” His helm looks at her now, but his fingers grip her prize possession.

“That’s because it is. I’m sure it is more than enough to cover this.” She waves a hand over her supplies. Her voice level is natural and calm, but she wonders if the omnic can also read her rapid heartbeat.

“Could it cover—Ma’am this is likely worth thousands of dollars if not millions. I must show this to Akira-san. Please, wait a moment. I can only imagine where you found such a priceless artifact.”

She almost speaks of how the crown wasn’t found but crafted by Freyja’s blessing. She never gets the chance to. Before she can stop him, the omnic turns and begins shouting in Japanese. A women in her thirties pops her head up from behind a set of doors.

Snapping her mouth shut instead, she wraps her arms around the bags. Keeping one eye focused on the conversing omnic and women as she begins walking to the doors. Grinding her teeth together as the weight pulls at the muscles along her back.

She reaches the exit. She glances back only to see all the excited chattering has attracted a crowd around the omnic and women. The women grazes one finger over the silver tips of the decorated wings. Eyes wide as the crown shimmers between their hands. A boy and girl shove through the crowd to look at the circlet. The two souls burning so brightly it causes her to stop for a moment and look over them.

The girl could pass for one of the natives, but she’s not of Japanese descent. A pink paint stains triangular pictures over her cheeks. Bangs brushing against her brow as she leans over the crown in awe. The boy beside her has dark skin in sharp contrast to hers. His hair styled in matted ropes that's tied back from his face. Their soul’s burn like a inferno. It wouldn’t surprise her if her sisters had watched over them in battle. Warrior spirits filling their small frames.

Then they both look her way as the omnic points back at her. The girl shouts, but she’s already turning away and disappearing through the doors.

“Hey, lady! Wait—kon'nichiwa!” The girl calls but she’s already rushing to the tree line that hugs the back of the building. A dirt path waiting for her that leads into the forest and back to her warrior.

She turns the corner of the building as she hears frantic footsteps exit store. Her eyes are almost blinded by the pain roaring in her head. The wolves’ hot breath is almost felt on the back of her neck as she presses against the wall. She wills her feet to keep carrying her, but they refuse. The heartbeat in her chest echoes into her ears. She prays that the pursers can’t hear the booming noise as well.

Voices sound from just around the wall. Her lungs inflate as she holds her breath.

“Where she go, Lucio? She was just here.”

“She’s got to be somewhere close. Man, you saw that crown right? It’s got to be worth at least a million.”

“Think she stole it from some museum? I’ve never seen anything like it before, and she’s obviously not from Japan.”

“Maybe, I don’t know. She doesn’t look like she’s from anywhere. I got that feeling, you know, like something was off about her.”

“Me too. Especially with her just leaving a priceless crown to pay for a couple bags of stuff. She has to be someone important.”

“For real. Think she even speaks Japanese? Or even English?”

“Don’t know. Either way I don’t want to lose her. Go check the south end, I’ve got the north.”

“You got it, Hana.”

The voices slip away. She dares to breathe only after a few more moments have pass. Not hearing their footsteps, she turns around. She almost trips on her way to the tree line before finally slipping under its safe canopy. As she stumbles a few more feet into its cover, dizziness slams down on her brain. The sudden attack forcing her to stop dead in her movement. With a sharp exhale, she falls to her knees.

She closes her eyes. Making her jaw slam shut as the spell begins to make her stomach churn. Her mind focuses on the single distortion that her head is experiencing. Lungs pushing air between her teeth as her arms let the bags go. Her fingers clamp around her skull, as if to physically remove the dizziness.

Only the dizziness, and the sharp points pressing into her scalp from her nails attend her.

Alone. Wingless. Weak.

_I never saw you as a fool…_

The dark cord finally slips past her defenses and cuts through her chest. Severing her lungs, tearing her heart apart. It leaves nothing whole as she cracks in half. The dark thoughts that have gathered in the back of her mind since she first watch her wings burn to ash spring forth. The black emotions begin to consume her.

She saved him. She saved a pure soul. Why is this happening to her? Why is she forsaken for sparing a good man? Her sisters, her title, her wings, Freyja. They’ve all abandoned her. Left her to bleed out from her wounds and leave no one to care for her warrior.

She survived the wolves but that does not mean her body wasn’t broken before. The lost lamb drowns in its fears and failures.

Every inch of her being screams she designed to save him. Yet, thousands of voices assault her for being foolish and weak. Why do they attack her for bringing that man back when her atoms say it was her own fate?

Her hands slip from her skull to cover her mouth as her breath rips through her throat. Eyes squeezing shut but it doesn’t stop the liquid falling from her eyes. The ribs are all shattered in her chest. The pieces impaling the lining of every tissue inside of her. Her broken body wails in its agony. She weeps. She can do nothing else while she crumbles upon the ground.

The breaths of air scraping along her throat are getting louder, even to her. She shoves her fingers between her teeth and bites down. The pain vibrates the bones in her hand, but it at least quietens her sobs. Her chest constricting as she forces her lungs to slow in their panic. The pressure increases in her bite. The dizziness and other aches shoved aside to focus on the immediate pain. Her body and mind clash, fighting for control. She presses her teeth down harder, and her lungs shudder to a slower tempo.

She is his Valkyrie, yet every energy tells her she is wrong in believing in so.

She stays still, blind and with one hand in her mouth. Inhale. Exhale. Her breathing steadies. Inhale. Exhale. Her eyes are through with crying. Inhale. Exhale. She needs to get back to her warrior.

An almost painful rush of relief shoots through the tendons of her jaw as she unlocks it. Slipping her fingers out of her mouth and into her lap. Her eyes smooth out and open, landing on the saliva covered hand on her leg. There’s no blood, only deep, reddening indents of where her incisors pressed down.

And just as the tide pulls back to the ocean, the dizziness subsides. It lingers over her brain, but its potency is nothing of what it once was. Her body still hurts, but her mind is stable enough. She needs to keep going, least those children stumble upon her.

Her warrior is depending on her.

The image of hair the color of grass is what gets her muscles to unlock. Her movements are slow and jerky. She notes her limbs trembling and even feels the occasional shudder of her lungs. Putting a task on her mind, she follows it numbly.

She rips the backpacks out of the dark plastic bags. The two packs large and able to carry what it needs to. With shaking hands she transfers all the supplies into the backpacks. Tossing aside the dark plastic materials once empty. They’re both bulging to the brim, almost not able to hold all the items. Several times she stops herself and slows her breathing. Her fingers keep on letting the zipper rattle out of her grip. With several harsh jerks and forced movements, she manages to zip both backpacks. Her eyes scan over the two as she prepares herself for what comes next.

She decides to first put the one backpack onto her front. Slipping her arms through the straps and letting it lay against her chest. The weight pulls at her back, but not too damaging. Next, she prays for strength as she grips the other. Moving as she can with her wounds, she puts it on. The weight rests against her spine this time, and her stumps shoot out jolts of pain at the contact.

She stands, letting the pain attack her senses as she adjusts to the weight. It’s not too terrible, but she’ll have to be careful not to trip. Getting back up with be difficult, if she even can. 

She walks forward, ignoring everything but going back to him. The journey is long and difficult. Her body feeling beyond ruined. The slight dryness set on her cheeks is evidence of the tears that have dried out. The twilight spreading over the terrain as the sun disappears. Thoughts of her warrior lying under the night sky, shivering, fills her head. Making it ache all the more. She makes her steps a little quicker. Praying with all her soul as she walks through the darkening forest.

The sound of tumbling water strikes her center. A drop of warmth spreading throughout her bleeding chest cavity. She begins to rush, stumbling forward and following its dark gleam. The circular tree line comes into her field of vision, and she runs. Her mangled heart jumps to her throat at seeing him once again. Bursting into the clearing, her gaze lands on his body upon the grass in the dim light.

“Heart.” Her voice cracks as she stumbles the last few feet before collapsing beside him. Her palms crush the grass as she stares at her warrior. Her breathing tearing through her throat as she forces her fingers to move. Quick as she’s able to, she jerks the backpacks off. Almost tearing the zipper off. She fights to open the bag containing the clothes.

As her hands move, calmness settle over her. In this place, there is no need to hide. She does not fear wolves, nor wonder if they’ll come to hunt down a lamb. There are no sheep here, only a warrior and his Valkyrie.

Her tunic still covers his chest, along with a still stained orange scarf. His head tilted away from her as his body shivers. Her fumbling hands finally manage to pull out a long sleeve shirt that she only hopes will fit him. She scoots closer, pressing her bent legs against his body. One hand clutches the shirt, the other rips her tunic off his chest and rests her palm over his heart.

Its soft beat presses into her skin. Her eyelids flutter as the relief numbs her injuries for a moment.

A soft moan stops her still, causing her to hold her breath. Her warrior’s eyes twitch. His head tilts, moving as if through water before his eyelids ease open. She leans over him, eyes wide and unblinking. A soft breath escapes him before her warrior’s gaze settles on her.

“…Angel…”


	5. Sepia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping beauty is finally awake, I promise!

No man have ever seen her when she was Eir. Her wings were never held within mortal eyes. The stories of her sister’s warriors beholding them was always a cherished moment. Though it is strictly forbidden, it is uncontrollable when it happens. Göll’s had two mortal eyes set upon her. She only told Eir of her encounter because she is the eldest and must uphold Freyja’s law in example to their younger sisters. She trusted Eir enough to not be swayed by her tales.

Göll admitted that she knew why Valkyries could fall, but she resisted the mortal to keep her wings. Her heart has always been captured by the glory of the battlefield. The eldest Valkyrie never could let go of her spear. She did however seem lost in her stories when she told them. As if still seeing the warrior’s eyes that looked back at her.

The men were always shocked still. Awestruck, wide eye, and without speech. They kneeled at their Valkyrie’s feet, and swore their life to them. The promises strong and sealed with pure blood. Her sisters explained the love and passion flowing from their spirits. It was unlike any other. The oaths sworn to them could have bound the oceans across lands and pressed the mountains together.

She never understood their meaning. How one soul could lay themselves down for a Valkyrie. The stories were simply exaggerate in her sister's words. Just a little fun to add to the tale. Nothing real.

She is wrong. It is the entire truth that she discovers now.

Her warrior gazes up at her. Eyes finally open and revealing sepia irises. His lips part. A soft breath slipping into the air as his brow tightens. The eyelashes framing his eyelids flutter for a moment. He swallows, blinking once before focusing back on her.

“Heart.”

Her lungs move out the name, the owner at last hearing his title. A soft energy fills her center at his trembling lips.

“ _ Heill _ , my warrior.” She whispers, testifying of her guardianship. “You’re awake.”

His eyelids shudder, but don’t close.

“… Angel… did you bring me to… heaven?” His native words are soft and breathy, his exhaustion is clear in every small movement.

Her lips tug into a smile at his assumption. “You are still continuing on your path of mortality. We reside in your home country, but I have moved you to a safe location. No one will harm you.”

For one moment, he shivers as he blinks slowly. Brow creasing as he focuses back on her.

“You saved…  _ me _ ?”

“Yes.” She says patiently. It’s difficult for mortals to process the truth. Whatever they picture Valkyries as it was only in fantasy. To find that the stories of old are as alive as them is a world shifting revelation.

His eyes pull wide open as he sharply inhales. The contours of his neck shifts when he attempts to move. A grimace playing out among his features as the tempo of his struggled breathing increases.

“Hanzo—We need to… move. He’ll—”

“Lie still,” She orders, pushing him back down with her gentle hand that still covers his heart. “We are safe. There is no need to fear. I will know if any danger comes upon us.”

She moves her hand away. The feeling of the heat from his skin still burns her palm as she takes the shirt in her lap. The dark shadows created by the last beams of the sun play against his green hair. Her heart beats in the cooling air with lightness.

Her warrior is alive. Now she must keep him that way. His lungs still heave, his eyes darting from the tree line and back to her.

“You are safe here,” She repeats. “No one will hurt you.”

His chest movement only slows after staring at her for several heartbeats. He settles back against the grass, but his muscles do not relax.

“It is cold; I will help you put this on.” She explains with a soft voice.

He simply gives her a soft huff of breath as acknowledgement. Sepia irises engulfing her vision as she takes in his fear and confusion. She takes note of the way his eyes flicker over her shoulders. Expecting to see appendages she no longer has.

She blinks before focusing back on the task at hand.

“I know you have many questions, but you must trust me. All will be revealed to you soon enough. It is my duty to care for you first. I swear no harm will come upon you, my warrior.”

Lips part to breathe out words, but the exhaustion overcomes him and he stills. Without hesitatation, she slips the garment onto his body. The process slow but steady as she tilts his body this way and that to eventually have him covered. Her hands are gentle and sure as she takes the other clothing and covers him from head to toe. Her own movements painfully slow. The wounds on her back are always making their presence know. She can’t have her warrior worrying whether or not his Valkyrie can care for him or not. He simply needs to focus on resting.

The sun slips away and leaves them in dark air. Traces of warmth from the rays of light slowly disperse. Her warrior is protected against the cold, so she does not fret.

She gathers up her own clothing along with his orange scarf and the plastic cup.

“The riverside is just a feet away. I’ll change clothes then clean your scarf as best as I can and get you water. It will only take a moment.” She moves to stand, but immediately stops to when his eyes flash wide.

“No—wait,” He nearly cries out, “Don’t leave… I don’t—I don’t want you… to disappear.”

His trembling words make her pause. His panic clear in every line of his face.

With care she sets aside the items before placing one fist over her heart. She takes a knee. Her spine straight but she holds his gaze within her own.

“As your Valkyrie I will never leave you, soul of pure heart. Your name is taken upon me, and I will watch over you as you stay pure to me.” She vows, the oath only strengthening the bond she has already given to him.

He’s struck silent at her oath. His mouth slightly tilting open before he closes it. The strong cords in his neck struggle before raising his head in a form of a bow. It’s the best he can perform in his situation.

“My apologies, Angel. I didn’t mean insult or mistrust. I… I’m afraid that you’re simply a dream, and I’m going to wake up.”

She starts. Her own mind replaying the last day of waiting for his mortal form to slip away. Fear and anxiety forcing her to check his pulse every so often. It causes her to close her eyes for a moment. The thought that her warrior fears for her departure just as much as she fears his puts her soul at ease. 

She opens her eyes with a small exhale, then confesses “I thought the same of you, while you slept.”

The soft breath that escapes his mouth makes her shiver. He goes to move, but with one gentle hand she lays him back down.

“We are both here now, my warrior. I’ll hum so you can hear me until I return, understand?”

He gives a stifled sound of affirmation. With one last fleeting gaze over him, she stands. She works her tongue before humming a tuneless noise. A smile is placed on her mouth for his reassurance, the sound still working in her mouth. His own lips tug back. The anxiety still pressing on his face. In response, she hums louder as she turns away.

The side of the river dips slightly under the level of the meadow. When she gets out of his sight and reaches the water side, she almost stumbles. Her own fatigue is crashing down on her body. The steady headache still persists and the assault of dizziness makes her head spin. Just the simply walk to the river almost makes her pass out. Yet she doesn’t stop humming. Her breath hitches in her throat, but she does not cease the sound.

In her small bundle of clothing, she slips out the bandages that were retrieved out of sight of her warrior. He can’t be worried of other manners besides resting his body. She’ll cover up the wounds for now.

As she strips down in the darkness, the melody of the water joins her tuneless hum. Taking off the tattered shirt, she almost cries out in pain. The movement of her shoulders and arms causing searing tension in her bloody stumps. Her humming grows for one moment. The sound helping to cover up her struggled movements and stopping her throat from letting out squeaks of pain. Her skin shivers as it loses protection against the cold air.

After the pain subsides, she bites the inside of her cheek. Continuing forward without hesitation.

Her bra is the only clothing left on her torso as she kneels besides the water. Her fingers are stiff and numb. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she lets her hands graze against her wounds. The slightest touch sends jolts of agony. She only prays that she doesn’t receive infection. Her mind silently rebuking herself for ignoring the wounds. If she falls her warrior will have no one.

They only have each other now. She takes comfort and worry in the thought.

She takes the roll of white gauze. Her fingers delicate as she maneuvers as slow as possible in wrapping the bandage around her torso. Over one shoulder, across her spine and under the opposing arm. Back and forth repeatedly. A giant ‘X’ marking her backside. She doesn’t clean the blood away even though she feels it like a second skin against her back. She’ll address it later.

The muscles in her arm spasms in a hope to ward off the cold, but at the moment it causes her trembling fingers to pull the bandage too tight. It strains directly across her wounds, and her hum halts in a hiss of breathing. She bites down on her cheek. Both hands flying to her mouth as she smothers the cry of pain before it can escape her. Tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.

Four heartbeats pass in agonized silence. Her teeth smashed together as she attempts to work her throat but nothing comes out. Blood floods around her tongue.

“Angel?” Comes the weak call from her warrior.

Her jaw refuses to unlock. Her wounds a beast digging its teeth into every nerve along her back.

“Angel!” The sounds of struggles come from behind her. She pries her mouth open, spitting out blood before looking behind her. His limbs are spread out across the grass as he attempts to move upon the ground. His head angle closest to her but the grassy meadow prevents him from just lifting his head back and seeing her.

“I’m here. I’m here.” She says repeatedly, the words strained. “Stay still.”

He stops moving, and she manages to hum once again before he can say anything else. The sound loud and forced, but she keeps it going. Her warrior settles back down. The sharp agony in her back fades to a dull ache. A new pain blossoming in the tattered inner lining of her cheek. She pauses for one moment to spit out another mouthful of blood. Her humming only missing a beat.

She faces the water again, her fingers carefully taking back the bandage and finishing the dressing of her wound. Her mind is only focused on humming, and now changing the rest of her clothing.

Once the torture struggle of pulling on apparel is over, she dons a too large gray button up t-shirt with a tight yellow long sleeve undergarment. Her plate of armor slipped between the undergarment and the baggy shirt. It feels unnatural to be without it. She slides her seax holster back around her waist and hides it with the shirt. Her legs are draped in brown leggings. All the denim pants she picked are must too large to bother try putting on. She’ll just have those for her warrior.

She pauses for a moment in her humming to breathe in softly. The task leaves her fainter than before. Her body calling out for food and water in a desperate cry.

First, the scarf, than the water cup.

She shifts against the dirt edge and retrieves the orange cloth. She pulls it through her index and middle finger. The scarf thick but soft and spotted with rustic dots.

What could make a brother kill his own? What reasoning did her warrior’s brother have for doing this to him?

The questions are set aside. She’s not the only one who wants answers. Keeping up her tuneless hum, she dunks the cloth into the river and scrubs away with her finger nails. Once it’s a simple orange canvas, she wrings it out. The water droplets falling onto stones.

Continuing the tuneless sound, she bends down and fills the cup with cool water. She doesn’t drink from it as she straightens up. The clothing secure in the crook of her arm. She turns, careful not to spill the water. Going to her warrior, he shifts slightly at her approaching humming. When she stops beside him, his eyes travel over her ridiculous clothing, but thankfully says nothing. Yet, his eyelashes tremble as a faint stroke of pink seems to paint his cheeks.

She lays the orange scarf out to dry before settling down beside him.

“Here,” She murmurs gently. “Drink this.”

He watches her silently, his eyelids moving slowly. He’ll need to go back to resting. With a gentle hand she tilts his head so he can sip from the cup. She asks him kindly to drink it all, and he does.

Softly she helps him to settle back down on the bed of grass. In the dark she can barely make out his irises, yet they still shine through. His eyelids tremble but don’t close. His face muscle twitching as he evades sleep.

“My warrior, you need to rest.” She says softly, before placing the cup on the ground.

“I don’t want to go to sleep.” He whispers. She turns back to find fear and confusion still plaguing his features. Her heart fluttering at the expression.

She shifts, taking a rather large shirt from one of the backpacks and draping it over his torso as a makeshift blanket. His arms twitch, but she careful takes each one between her fingers and settle them on his stomach. Most of his body is covered now. It’s not much, but it’s all she can do now.

“I will never leave, my warrior.” She soothes gently. “I need you to rest now, for me.”

He remains silent for a long moment, before breathing out nearly inaudible.

“Okay...” His brow tightens, but his lips part with, “Angel, I don’t know what your name is.” He coughs, and this has her leaning over him. It subsides quickly. Leaving him grimacing but still looking up at her with expectancy.

As he breathes out roughly but without problem, she leans back. Faltering terribly at the question. With a straining tone she admits, “I don’t have one. Not anymore.”

His brow twitches. Eyes searching hers for the hidden meaning.

“Why don’t you have a name anymore?” He manages to ask.

She looks away, “That is not important right now.” Turning back, she quickly adds, “I don’t know your name.”

She knows his name, but it’s not what the other mortals would have called him on this earth.

He swallows. The thoughts in his mind whirling together as he know she’s holding something from him. Fear strikes her heart that he doesn’t trust her. He then speaks, banishing her anxiety

“Genji… Genji Shimada.”

His name flows through her. Her soul taking it and fastening a careful hold onto it.

“Genji. My warrior.” She breathes, and she finds a weary smile placed on his lips. His eyes cemented to her own.

“Please, Angel.” He says quietly, “If you don’t have a name, why don’t you give yourself one?”

She stills at his suggestion. Her head ducking slightly at it.

“Names cannot be chosen by one’s own self. They must be given. They must be earned based on their actions and what they stand for.” She explains softly, before peering at him through the darkness.

“My warrior… Genji. You may give me a name, if you so desire.” Her whisper is weak but it must reach him. His startled expression breaks through the night air. He blinks several times while tilting his head a few degrees.

“I would accept one from you.” She enhances her proposition. “If you wish to give me one.”

He swallows, completely unsure. His soul flicking with his internal fight of not being worthy enough to give her one. Then just as quickly, a sudden shift happens within his spirit. The energy stilling. He meets her gaze with a hesitant but pressing look.

“Mercy.” He speaks. “If… if you’ll accept it.”

She stays perfectly still. Her heart pulsating softly before asking, “Why?”

This is what causes him to falter and look away. His lips part with effort before speaking.

“You saved me, even though I should have died…” His sepia eyes return to hers. Her soul feeling at peace within the brown depths of his irises.  

“You are my mercy.”

At the confession, the name comes to her. Her soul accepts it alongside his name. Since the loss of her wings, this is the first moment she has felt pride and power surge back into her. The meaning pure and good. She silently vows to be the embodiment. Promising to stand as its keeper for as long as she breathes.

She places her fist over her heart, bowing her head to the one who has given her a title and purpose.

“Then let me be known as your Mercy.”


	6. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji finally gets to ask Mercy some questions about angels and whatnot.

The cold air nips at her exposed cheek. A soft sound escapes her throat as she shifts her face. Pressing the cold skin against the warm surface underneath her with a hum of contentment. A small shudder rolls underneath her torso, causing her eyes to blink open at the movement.

The angle of his jaw rests above her. Her forehead presses against his collarbone. The scars trailing over the cords of his neck like a territory she has yet to map out. The warmth is his body which she steals as she curls over him. She registers the light weight of his arms on her lower back. Wrapped around her as if fearing of losing her while they sleep. 

Blood rushes her cheeks, but once again the situation was unavoidable. Their sharing of warmth was necessary throughout the night, but at least he was conscious for this part and softly agreed it was the best thing to do.

Genji’s heartbeat is a driving force that stations her soul. To hear it throughout the night was a soft lullaby as she slept. Blushing once again, she sets to moving away.

Careful and slow, she shifts her body up and off his. She manages to slip out from under his arms without disturbing his sleep. The large shirt that served as a blanket last night still covers her shoulders, but not for long. With a deep inhale, she tugs it off her and rearranges it over his body. Hoping to stop the chilly air from attacking his marred skin. A soft moans slips from between his grinding teeth during the entire ordeal, but he stays still. Genji huffs a heavy breath before continuing his dreaming.  

She stays still for a moment. The morning sun barely peeks between the branches of the trees. The meadow around them sparkles with dew and forgotten diamonds. It’s a scene from a masterpiece. A portrait of a handsome man resting in its surrounding beauty. The artist’s brush ensuring Genji to be portrayed in his natural element. Each soul softening feature conveyed with a careful stroke.

Her hand reaches out, but trembles as she falters. Who is she to touch the masterpiece? Will she stain years of strength and beauty? Isn’t her meaning to simply look on and watch for its interests?

A harsh reminder brings forth her state. The aches centering right behind her soul.

She is no longer an observer viewing the art. She is part of the landscape now. The world she once considered exotic and surreal is now her own.

With her ring finger, she brushes back a green lock that touches his forehead. His lungs lets out a quiet breath at her touch, but does not stir. One more indulgent touch brings her middle finger down his hair line, trailing lightly behind the shell of his ear.

She brings her fingers back to herself, but only for a moment before once again reaching out. This time it’s simply to adjust his orange scarf. Now she lets him be, silently chiding herself for being so permissive. She stands up. Her hand held closely over her heart while the other one grabs the water cup.

The river’s chattering is familiar and comforting. She approaches the water with a grimace staining her expression all the while. Her wounds begging for proper attention. Her teeth slide against the inside of her sore cheek, but she refuses to bite on it.

The sunshine breaks through the tree line. The heat bringing her to close her eyelids for a moment and letting it soak into her skin. For a blissful second, she images the softest grassland surrounding her. The swelling river at her side to be the purest blue to grace the land, and her sisters surrounding her. Cleaning their weapons or chattering about the last battle or boasting of their warrior. Its playful banter, and sometimes splashing of water onto each other’s feathers would lead to only giggling and retaliation with their own splashing.

She blinks, and the sun blinds her. Tears floods her eyes as she turns her head away from the intensity. The corneas of her eyes throb painfully for a few seconds. A frustrated huff of air bursts from her throat as she kneels at the river’s edge. Dipping her fingers into the cool liquid, her nails clink against small stones. The sensation grounds her as she slows her breathing down. Bit by bit, her jaw unlocks, and she sighs. The dark cord that threatens to slip up and choke her again is kept at bay.

Her warrior is only a few feet away, alive and well. That is all that matters.

The water is pleasantly cold. The surface looking clear and smooth. She dips the cup into the river and breaks its perfect image. The ripples of water disappear across the river as she brings it to her lips. The liquid ice makes her body shiver as it spills into her empty stomach. Her body calls for more before she can swallows the last drop. She drinks another cup, then fills it up once again. This time she holds it carefully between two hands before venturing back to her warrior to prepare a meal that both are in desperate need of. The rush of water and the thought of food waking her stomach with a raging growl.

Her rustling through the bags must have been louder then intended, for when she turns around his eyes are open. The sepia irises rest calmly on her. She smiles at him. His expression shifts into something soft, his muscles relaxing.

“Hello, Genji.” She murmurs into the morning air. “I apologized if I woke you.”

“Angel—Mercy. You’re still here.” His dry throat speaks the words like a dark confession.

His fears are still coursing through his veins. Strong and unrelenting. She can only fight it with her reassurance.

“Of course. As I have told you before, there is nothing for you to fear.” She says kindly, hoping to ease his soul, and maybe his body. “I have food for you.”

She takes out a cup of applesauce but foolishly stalling as she tries to figure out how to position him to be able to eat. There isn’t any possibility of her dragging a log large enough to prop him against. She refuses to move him in his state and neither of them could bare it. At least, not without the help of her staff, but to push him in his condition will only prologue his healing. They’re already so exposed here. The meadow was never meant to be a long term stronghold.

“Excuse me, but may I ask how you know Japanese?”

Her head turns to rest on Genji as he gazes up at her. Brow narrowed in curiosity but he leans slightly away. Afraid to ask the question but needing to know the answer.

She withholds a weary sigh, knowing he needs to know what she is exactly. Her own questions burns the tip of her tongue. Nevertheless, she will endure until his inquisitive mind has been satisfied.   

“I can speak and understand all tongues.” She answers simply, then sits back on her feet to survey the meadow. Carefully moving as to not allow a flinch to break past her defenses. The grass is level and green. No lower ground besides by the river. She doesn’t consider the option.

His slight hesitation is caught by her eyes before he asks, “Are you omnipotent?”

“No,” she answers immediately but pauses to elaborate. “I know the fates of warriors and have power to change it, but beyond that I am blind.”

Her gaze lands back upon her warrior. Her hand unconsciously tightening around the cup of applesauce as a solution comes to mind.

She will have to be his support while he eats. The stumps along her back ache in protest at the thought. She inhales deeply, before moving beside him.

“One moment, my warrior. I will answer all your questions, but you need to eat first.” She interrupts his next words, but he gives a slight nod of his head. Mercy scoots over the trampled grass to rest beside his shoulders. His head tilts backward as she repositions herself. The silver ring tied into the end of her braid almost touches his ear before she flips it back over her shoulder. Her head leans over his as they share the same plane of eye contact.

“I am going to rest your back against me so you are can eat,” She explains while setting aside the cup of applesauce. “Can you move at all?”

His jaw tightens before he twitches his fingers. Teeth baring in the slightest as his brow narrows in concentration. In the too large shirt, he presses his palms to the ground in order to tilt to his left. Large breaths of exhaustion already escaping him. Mercy’s hand presses against his shoulder to help him shift. Her other hand slips under his arm to drag him close. Their breath of exertion harmonizing as she pulls him up against her chest, his legs able to move him back into her arms.

His hair tickles her neck as he leans against the column of her throat. The pressure of his body weigh against her chest plate but she holds him up. The roped muscles across his shoulders shiver, causing her to wonder if it’s from the cool morning or something else entirely. Her wounds scream out in protest, but she does not falter. Pushing back against his body to hold him, her arms wrap around his torso to keep him from tilting too far to one side. Clearing her throat becomes difficult as she feels the hard compact form of muscles just underneath his too loose shirt.

“I do not mean to make you uncomfortable,” she speaks while feeling her jaw brush against his green shaded locks. Her arms shifting to press against his sides instead of holding his torso.

His body is tense, but his warmth is a reassurance she can’t explain.

“I don’t mean to make _you_ uncomfortable,” he speaks with a voice that holds back anger, but it disarms her to find it’s directed towards his own self. “Why am I so weak?”

She pauses for a moment. The vibrations in his chest echoes through hers. Like an earthly melody that reaches her core.

“Genji.” She takes one hand away to swiftly grab the cup of applesauce and hold it out in front of his torso. “Eat, and I will explain.”

With slow movements he takes the food and manages to remove the sealing. His arms shaking as he brings it to his lips and slurps.

She shifts to a more comfortable position for both of them. He settles against her easily. He swallows the first mouthful of food, and Mercy’s body loosens for moment. 

Clearing her throat, she organizes her thoughts as to what she wishes to have him know. Taking one more moment, her mind settles down.

Her voice comes out as a hum before telling of how she came upon him. Of finding her sister Göll overlooking another warrior. Then saving his soul from entering Fólkvangr, and bringing him here. Caring for him until his awakening.

At the conclusion of her tale, he’s emptied the cup. He asks her softly by name if he’s allowed to have more. There is no hesitation as she reaches out and jerks the backpack closer to them. Another cup of applesauce in his hands the next second.

He stalls, his tongue searching for his questions. Mercy waits patiently, preparing her answers.

“Why do you still watch over me? Don’t misunderstand me—I’m eternally grateful for your presence,” Mercy almost smiles at his stumbling words, “but you’re not required to be with me now, right?”

Her light expression disappears at this, grateful that he can’t see her face.

She knows his soul, how he will react. She won’t make him feel guilt when he shouldn’t. It was her decision, not his.

“I choose to stay with you.” She says the truth, but adds, “That is the only reason.”

His grip tightens around the cup before he speaks softly. She more feels the words in her chest then hears it.

“Is that why you hide your wings? Because you’re staying with me?”

The movement in her lungs stops for one second. She rushes the next breath, hoping that the faltering will escaping his notice.

“I do not have wings.” Not anymore.

_I never saw you as a fool…_

She covers her recoiling by interrupting his next words, “Mortals only see a manifestation of such during a resurrection, but I do not strictly have wings.”

He stalls at her jumbled lie, but gives no indication of thinking it is such. Her deceit tilts her heart to a lopsided degree, but she knows this is best. His soul will place guilt upon himself if he knew the truth. He is not to blame.

She accepts her consequences. She accepts him.

The movement of his head presses the corner of his jaw slightly into her collarbone. It is no great weight, but she feels it heavily.

“They were beautiful,” He whispers.

Her chin brushes against his hair as she looks across the meadow. The urge to rest her chin against his head is strong but she holds herself back. Her eyes shutting tightly. It does not block the images of ash and flame and white feathers. It does not bring what she was once honored with back.

“Thank you, my warrior…” She trails off because her lips still yearn to tell him of flying over grassy plains and flanking behind her chosen mortals to make them appear as heavenly messengers. She opens her eyes up to the sky. Blue bleeding behind the yellow star.

She accepts her consequences. She accepts him.

“Can I ask,” Genji’s voice wavers, pulling her out of her reminiscing. “Did I really… die?”

She does not miss his thick tones and tense muscles.

The blood that stained his skin swims behind her eyes. The warrior did not stop attacking his dying body even though the fight was obviously over. A warrior worthy of Göll, but never could she oversee him. The very thought leaving a poisonous taste on her tongue. How he fled with the fear and guilt of what he’s done but leaving Genji to his death.

“Yes, but I stopped your soul from entering through the gates of Fólkvangr,” She tells him as gently as possible. “That is why your body is weak as it is. The traumatic experience is difficult for both your spiritual and physical forms. You will be fine, but you must rest to allow strength to return to you.”

His head turns away. His ribcage stiff and held tightly. Try as he does, this does not prevent her from feeling the rattling through her armor. His soul flickers dimly and Mercy almost reaches her hand up to touch his cheek. She curls her fingers into her palm. Her teeth biting the sore spot on the inside of her mouth as she holds back her desire.

“Heart—Genji. You are here now. I am with you. There is nothing to fear.” She soothes him quietly. Hoping her words are helping to ease him.  “No one will hurt you, I will not allow it.”

Even if that means keeping an entire army at bay, she will stand strong and fight. Her warrior is her purpose. She will hold him up through every war. No battle will leave him slain. Her wings are lost, but she is still a Valkyrie. She will guard him until Fólkvangr both beckons their souls, and she will lead him there.

“So the Westerners are right.” He says thickly, trying to add a lighter tone to his voice. “Angels are real.”

The small laugh that escapes her mouth surprises her. She laughs again to see that it shocks him too. His body stilling besides his head which turns up to face towards her lips.

“Many have called my being as an angel, but my people originate from a culture that no longer thrives as it once did.” She explains easily, finding humor in that is what he focuses on. It may be inappropriate to laugh now, but it feels her with good energy. The stress from the days piling upon her. Her body needs an outlet and it finds one through laughter. She hopes it doesn’t offend him.

She looks down to see his eyes staying strictly on her. His sepia irises wide as he parts his lips. Curiosity burns in his corneas, and she holds back a smile.

“Then what are you?” He asks, genuine bewildered.

“I am a Valkyrie.” She says with pride but hides the biting edge that her wounds remind her of. Her lightheartedness slipping away like wind through her fingers.

“Valkyrie…” he murmurs, tasting it along his tongue. “You said that before. That you’re my Valkyrie?”

“Yes, just as you are my warrior.” She answers simply.

He takes another moment to gather his thoughts.

“Do… do you need me to pray to you?” He tentatively asks.

“Oh Genji, no.” She quickly says, fearing that he only thinks she stays for his worship. “No, Valkyries exists and thrive because of battles and warriors. We do not need worship to continue on.” She pauses for a moment, memories springing forth at what was so long ago. “The culture we originated from did worship us, but it was not needed. Though it did gain certain mortals favor if their worship was pleasing.”

“Culture?” He shifts his grip on the cup of applesauce, his focus directed entirely upon her face. Her head tilts down to meet his gaze. The view allowing her to count each eyelash framing his eyes.

She smiles softly as she nudges his arm, “Eat, Genji, and then I will explain.”

He shifts his head, his hair brushing against her neck. She manages to hold back a shiver as he slurps from the cup. Once he swallows and takes another mouthful, she begins speaking.

“Some call them Norse. They were the first to recognize us and worship my creators. Although the times have changed and beliefs have shifted, we still prosper. Where there is war, a Valkyrie will always be present. It has been this way from the beginning of man, and will be forever onwards.”

Genji pauses in his eating, but with a soft bump from her hand he continues on. He finishes the cup in another two bites, but stays silent. His mind visibly occupied with her words.

She traces back through the ages, remembering alters and offerings in her or her sisters names. It never left a burning impression when the worshiped stopped but some of her sisters noticed. She takes in the changing of the times in the different forms mortals come to kill one another. War has always been war. It will exists no matter the many variants.

“You haven’t eaten yet,” her warrior breaks the silence as his head shifts to look up at her.

“I will, Genji.” She reassures him, still pulling her mind away from memories. A part of her taken back that she has to eat now to keep up her energy. A part of her wondering of his concern.

They move once again to allow Genji to lay down in the grass. His body movement a little stronger than just a few minutes ago. Mercy heart lightens at this, but her aching stumps upon her back drag her back down. Nevertheless she must eat, and does her best to keep her movements small as she rumbles through the backpacks. Her teeth tightly clamp together to distract from the ache.

Mercy devours her own cup of applesauce but tells Genji she is too full to eat anymore. They have to make the food last. Her warrior is in a greater need of it than she. Her stomach quietens down at least, but still groans for more substance. Mercy ignores this, and instead tucks her legs underneath her as she sits beside him. Her eyes scanning the tree line.  

“Mercy?” He says her name. Her new title making her shiver with contentment.

“Yes, Genji?” She turns to look down at him, his brow drawn tightly. He shifts, the line of his side pressing against her thigh unconsciously.

“What happens now?” He barely keeps his gaze on hers.

She blinks, “You rest and heal.”

“And afterwards? When I’m not weak?” His tone is thin and unsure. He now looks away, off to her side at the meadow.

“Then… you may go back to your home.” She speaks the truth before she realizes it.

A canyon fractures through her mortal heart. The reality of her situation slamming into her chest.

He may not want her to care for him through the rest of their short time as mortals. He has a life that must be lived. He has a family and purpose. She cannot intrude. She cannot take that away from him.

Her very purpose was formed because of wars and warriors, but without one… what is she to him? What is she? Her purpose?

“I don’t have a home, not anymore.” His statement startles her out of her drowning thoughts. Her lips parting in surprise. A million questions builds in her brain at the one announcement. His avoiding eyes tell her he wishes to not speak of it, but his soul is sincere.

“And I worry about where you will go. Will you go back to your own home?” He says with a shaking but determined voice. His sepia irises engulfs her vision as she finds herself speechless. Her entire being becoming lighter with his words.

He is alone too. He is without a place and purpose—just like her. Whatever caused this to be must be connected with why he was nearly killed.

At much as it makes her heart ache to hear this news, the relief is bitterly sweet. The shame of being happy for his exiling stings, but the cautious look in his face soothes her worries away.

Although many questions fill her mind, she is overwhelmed with the hope of staying with her Heart. The dark mass of fear and uncertainty thinning inside of her soul.

“I have no home either, my warrior.” She whispers, and watches his eyes widen a fraction. Both tales on the tip of their tongues but they hold it back. The moment not ready for their histories. She will not push him to speak about such things when he is not ready to.

“If you are without a home and alone… Then will you stay with a foolish man like me? I swear to protect you, and keep you from all harm. I will continue to be your warrior until you wish me away.” He begs like a man about to be slain, asking the Valkyrie to have pity on his soul.

She will be his Mercy.

Her hand slips out, and takes his gently in hers. His fingers grip hers tightly. A fragile bridge of blooming hope connecting their souls.

“Only if you wish for me to always be your Valkyrie.”

Many questions still surround them. She knows nothing of his thoughts and past. Their future is unknown, but when his lips tug into a smile, it warms her soul. His answer a soft presence against her heart. 


	7. Caregiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this one took forever but life gets busy, anyways I wanted to get this one out as soon as possible so if there are mistakes please let me know.
> 
> Also, Mercy takes her shirt off, but its not for fun times. Genji is madly worried and shy.

The meadow is their oasis for the next four days. Genji sleeps through most of the day after their conversation, which allows Mercy to rest along his side. The bed of grass is not the cushion that Genji’s body is, but her longing for it is never voiced. She drifts in and out of consciousness while Genji stays unaware of the world. The times she is awake gives her thoughts the ability to sort themselves and her hands to organize what little supplies they have. Her wounds remain a dull ache that never allow a truly peaceful slumber. Blood begins to soak into her bandages. The coverings will need to be changed soon. For the time being, she grinds her teeth and bares it. She touches none of the food until Genji wakes an hour before the sunset. Both eat a more hearty meal now that they have regained some of their strength and appetite. They devour tomato juice, the strips of dried out meat which Genji calls beef jerky, and pudding as a form of dessert.

This time, Genji asks her small questions. What was the place she is from like? (Warm, beautiful, comforting. The grass always green.) What’s her favorite color? (Gold.) Does she like being a Valkyrie?

She laughs and simply asks in return if he likes being mortal. This makes him smile.

Although they speak easily, his soul does not match the atmosphere they create. There’s a dark edge to his energy. A cold, bitter sight filling her vision. She cannot find the source of this mark, but her thoughts lead her to the only logical answer.

He’s angry at her. She didn’t protected him as well as a Valkyrie should have. Force to wait while he heals and is at her whim. She can’t give him the rest he’s in need of. She’s failing to even provide a rooftop over his head.

She is deserving of his anger.

They share each other’s body heat at night. Blush seems to attack her cheeks while she sneaks glances at his closed eyelids. Silently marveling at the lines and curves of his face while she keeps her hands pressed tightly into fists.

The second day, Genji is more alert. Only sleeping off and on. He continues his questions, but steers clear of hard topics. Mercy suspects he only asks what he would be willing to answer at the moment. There is no blame she can place on him. She has yet to tell her own truths.

Both spend their time eating and regaining their strength. Genji finally moves to a sitting position by himself, but it is not a victory in his eyes. The dark energy from his soul vibrates out and burns Mercy. He only sees a pathetic accomplishment, but she smiles for him. A soft reminder leaves her mouth that he’s still healing.

At the morning of the third day, Mercy wakes on his chest as she has before. She does not get the chance to press her cheek against his collarbone however, for her body stills with the sense of being watched. Thoughts of bandits or lawless men coming upon them makes her fear for Genji. Moving carefully, she looks up to his face only to find his eyes staring at her. He turns red at being caught, but Mercy barely contains the shivers his gaze gives her. He apologizes but she only assures him it’s alright. It’s time someone else stare at the other while waiting for them to wake.

Mercy laughs softly at her own joke, and Genji slowly slips back to his naturel skin shade.

He asks about her staff. How she can use it to heal others and even strengthen them? Why does she still wear her chest plate? Mercy answers all of these as best as she can, watching his gaze fill with wonder when his curiosity is satisfied.

He manages to stand, and makes it to the riverside with Mercy’s assistance. The water catches his reflection, and he stills. It takes a moment for her to understand that this is the first time Genji has seen his scars. All the healed parts upon his skin. His eyes wide as his fingers trace over his cheeks.

For the time that they’ve spent together, she hasn’t seen his marred skin. Yes, it’s there. All the pink jagged lines, but she only saw him. His green hair. His jaw angle. His sepia irises. The marks of survival never changed his appearance to her.

She softly explains that she can heal, but scars are always a reminder she can’t erase. Genji barely acknowledges her words with a brief nod. The time spent at the riverside is done so in silence as they clean their face and exposed skin with a too large shirt. Mercy mourns softly in her heart for his ache, but lets him process what his skin now bears without interruption.

The dark corner of his soul spreads out farther. The bitterness growing from his scars that mark his entire body.

She’s too blame for that as well.

He sleeps the rest of the day. Mercy sits silently beside him. Her thoughts tangled in guilt and failure. Her fingernails digging into her palms. Pain pulsates from her back as if to match the ache in her heart.

The fourth day, Mercy wakes from the sheer agony erupting in her back. She is barely able to shift away from his warm body. A hammer persists in smashing away at her temples.  Everything in her vision tilts from the dizziness plaguing her brain. Blood soaks through her bandages, staining the inside of her chest plate. She stumbles to the backpacks. Her direction barely holding as she staggers. Genji wakes just as she finds the bandages. 

“Mercy?” He speaks her name. The rustling of grass indicates his movements, then the sudden stillness.

“You’re bleeding.”

She straightens up and attempts to turn. Chastising herself for foolishly letting him catch the red staining her back, she bites the inside of her cheek. The rush of moving slams down on her conscious and she staggers. Two warm hands grasp her arms. She finds terror coloring his sepia irises as his lips move. His green hair the last thing to disappear as blackness overcomes her vision.

 

*

 

“Eir, why are you hiding?”

“Brynhildr,” she says her name as a sigh, “I am not hiding.”

“Then why is it that no one can find you but me?” Her smile widens as she sits beside her on the edge of the cliff. Her feet kicking out into the breeze as she leans back on her arms.

“Because you are as stubborn and hardheaded as one of her warrior’s helmets.” She replies easily, patting her fingers on top of her black curls that are spun so tightly they bounce with ever movement of her head. Brynhildr smiles. Her white teeth a sharp contrast to her dark skin. Her body’s color belonging to the background of the heaven’s nightly setting.

“True as that may be, it does not excuse your absence.” She states lightly. Her smile held in place but taking on a softer edge. Brynhildr straightens her posture, her wings settling against her back. The sun beams down on the rosy brown feathers, making the pink more prominent than customary.

“All of us heard your argument with Göll.” Her youngest sister bluntly states. “She is still breaking boulders in her fury.”

That is no surprise to her. Göll is loud and resentful whenever they have spite. She never could contain her own anger without focusing a little of that energy into destroying the giant rocks on the west side of the meadow. Only then could she come back to her senses.

Eir turns her head away, gazing out onto the valley from her tucked away spot. A few mountains rise to the east of the lake with several sharp caverns existing on its face. The sun basks onto her feathers, warming her skin. They sit on the mouth of the cave several hundred feet up, but she finds this the best place to ponder her thoughts.

“You know that is something she has repeatedly done.” Eir simply speaks after several moments. “We have had worst disagreements before. I simply needed a moment to regain my patience with her. It’s tiring to have the same argument again and again.”

“That is my question, Eir.” Brynhildr’s brow scrunches up in thought. “Why did she get so angry this time? It is not like you haven’t chose a medic to overlook before, so what cause her fury to come upon you?”

She stays silent for a moment. The sun almost blinding but she keeps her gaze elevated.

Göll’s words are harsh and her intensity is overbearing. Again and again Göll shouted that she is not overlooking warriors. She is not caring for brave mortals. The men she picks are useless and not worthy of any Valkyrie’s attention. How dare she waste her gifts upon those who don’t deserve it?

It angered Göll more, Eir thinks, when she responded with only calm tones and reasonable counters. She did not take kindly to being told that her anger is needing to be put under control.

The youngest Valkyrie’s stare begins to dig into her skin. Eir releases a quiet breath.

“Göll is honor and battle. It goes against her being to watch my warrior heal. It further pushed her to see him helping everyone upon the battlefield, not just the mortal’s own people. She is strong and dedicated in leading us, but she only sees her own virtues. She does not understand that mercy is not restricted to one side of the war.” Eir explains softly, her wings shifting tighter against her back.

Brynhildr holds her gaze before saying, “Eir, that candidly seems ludicrous. Are you sure that warrior was worthy of you?”

Her sister’s blunt words causes her wings to flare up slightly. The wing rustling over the pale feathers and brushing against the gold tips.

“Brynhildr, I have never overlooked a warrior that was not worthy. You know that Valkyries only chose the upmost and greatest of all mortals.” Eir tone is carefully controlled, but the question still harms her heart, especially coming from her youngest sister.

Bryhhildr falls back slightly at her level of voice. “I do not mean offense, but have you really never chosen a warrior that wasn’t worthy?”

This question eases Eir’s wings to once again settle down.

“Never once.” She states. “Bryhildr, you must be absolutely confident in your warrior. If one small part of you is unsure, then that mortal is not worthy of your blessing. You must be careful in your choosing because you give them everything you are. Your energy, your embodiment.”

Every soul that she has blessed, that she has called her own. Their light is taken within her. She is their mercy, and they are her gatekeepers.

“You become them just as much as they become you.”

Her warrior’s soul burned brightly as he saved mortal upon mortal. The affiliation upon the battle field meant nothing to him. Her own soul warms at her choosing him during that fight.

“That is why I chose that mortal as my warrior. He carried me within his soul. He understood my embodiment. He gave my spirit while I overlooked him. He knows that I give no favor over one army more than the other, and preformed as such.” Her eyes goes over Brynhildr’s rosy brown feathers. “You understand this, do you not?”

“Yes and no.” She honestly admits. “I understand you choosing your warriors because they honor you but help me to see why you chose mortals who do not necessarily fight.”

It is difficult to explain this to her sisters. They are all born for the battle, but Eir was the outlier. She is the balance to the chaos. It is a lonely, isolated role, but she takes it nevertheless. Knowing that it is her soul’s purpose.

“There are other ways to be strong besides through brute force and bloody weapons.” Eir says, looking into Brynhildr’s shining brown eyes. “There are other means besides violence and death.”

She scrunches her brow tighter while gathering her thoughts.

“I am sorry, Eir, but I don’t understand your meaning.” She speaks truthfully. “Nevertheless, know that I will always be by your side. Even if you are unlike any soul I have encountered before.”

The truth from her sister’s smiling lips stings, but it brings sweet relief with her pledging allegiance. Unlike Göll, Brynhildr attempts to understand her workings. She can never be more grateful for her youngest sister then as she is now.

“I know, sweet Brynhildr.” Eir takes her hands with care. “I thank you for your support.”

 “Of course, Eir.” her smile as warm as the sunbeams on her white feathers. “No matter what Göll says, you are the wisest of us all. I truly believe it so.”

Brynhildr squeezes her hands before speaking again. “Göll holds herself as if she doesn’t believe so, but I know she does as well.”

 

*

 

Fool.

Fool.

Fool.

_I never saw you as a fool…_

Please… This wasn’t a mistake…

He is worth it.

Her breathing shudders in her lungs. The grass tickles her cheek, but she can’t forget the rocks that littered the mouth of the cave. Brynhildr’s smile sticks to the inside of her eyelids. The familiarity of her feathers soft and strong against her back. The memory stroking against her tender wounds.

She is without wings. She is not Eir. She is not a true Valkyrie.

“Mercy?”

Her name jolts through her. Bringing her collapsed chest to a functioning point. The title spoken by the one who gave it to her.

Heart.

Her eyelashes tremble. As her body attempts to move, a sharp pain shoots out from her back. A moan escapes her lips. She opens her eyes to gaze upon the grass, her body stretched out along the ground. A backpack is shoved underneath her chest, propping her off the ground. Her arms are out in front of her face, wrists barely crossed.

“Mercy, don’t move.” Comes his voice. A river through the desert.

A soft warmth rests against her neck. Upon glancing down, she finds his orange scarf. The scent of musk and steel lingering within the threads.

“Genji,” She lifts her head and immediately winces. The slight breeze sends the grass to wave a small hello to her. The light touch brushing against her bare back…

Her warrior’s back is towards her, but at the moment he peeks over his shoulder. He sits close enough that they almost touch. His eyes are dark in the shadow cast by the sun. Blood spots color his too large shirt. When their eyes meet, Genji breathes out in relief. In the next moment, he’s tearing his gaze away from her. The back of his green hair only visible.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” His voice is controlled but it’s said in a low tone. The dark stain on his soul has spread further along.

She turns her head just enough to look over her shoulder, pushing slightly off the ground. Genji tilts his head at her movement, watching her from the corner of his eye but stays facing away from her. Distress at her movement filling his eyes. She peek at the clean bandages that are simply patched on over the old ones. Her chest plate gone. The top section of the yellow undershirt she wears is cut from the back of the neckline and halfway down her back. Her bra straps stained with dry spots of blood.

He hasn’t seen her wounds directly. He doesn’t know about her wings.

She turns her head to Genji who still shows her his back. She’s about to ask why he doesn’t face her, when the wind brushes against her bare back. Her wounds and bra straps visible to the sun.

Her heart lightens at his respect for her. He doesn’t wish to make her uncomfortable but he did care for her wounds as best as he could. A warmth spreads throughout her chest, his orange scarf pressing against her skin.

Before a word can leave her mouth he ducks his head.

“My apologies, but I had to stop the bleeding. I swear upon my life I didn’t—”

“I know, Genji.” She cuts in, settling back down upon her make shift pillow. She sighs but the movement provokes her wounds. “I know you did not damaged my honor. You do not have to face away, I am not uncomfortable… I apologize for putting you in this position.”

The scoff that leaves his mouth brings her attention back to him sharply. Her brow narrowing slightly at his abrupt behavior. The tension in his muscles giving away what his facial expression hides.

“Why are you apologizing?” The marred skin on his cheek tilts into her view for a moment. “Mercy, you could have bled to death and I wouldn’t have known until it was too late. Why didn’t you tell me were injured? How long have you had these wounds?”

She parts her lips but no words come out. She swallows. The action being much more difficult than it should be. Her mind comes up blank. Her warrior stares at her expectantly. His eyelashes tremble.

“I needed to take care of you.” She says.

From what section of face she can see, his expression settles into stone. He turns away once again. “You were bleeding for four—no, five days and you didn’t stop it because of _me_?”

“It is my duty to overlook you,” she answers back steely.

“No.” He shoots back. “Not when you have to take care of yourself, no. You need to put yourself first.”

“I will do whatever I wish to do.” Her soul burns at his remarks. Never before has someone treated her like a child. “I am a Valkyrie and will care for my warrior as such.”

“And I am your warrior and it is just as much as my duty to take care of you.” He counters, turning almost completely to face her now.

“I am perfectly capable of caring for myself.” Is her curt reply.

“You fell unconscious a few hours ago.” He gestures towards her with a backwards hands.

She presses her lips into a tight line at that. “It is nothing to fear, I just lost a little too much blood.”

“A little—Mercy, why are you ignoring your own health? Don’t you know you can die from that?” His voice shifts to pleading and desperation.

Mercy feels anger burn her tongue. “Genji, face me. I have never bled before. I did not think…”

She stops as his eyes lock onto hers. His body now turning to face her as he shifts. Her mistake coming into full view.

“You’ve never bled before...” He speaks his thoughts out loud. His gaze unyielding as his thoughts make the connection. “You told me Valkyries are immortal.”

“Genji…” she whispers.

He doesn’t yield, asking, “Are _you_?”

_I never saw you as a fool…_

She flinches. Genji moves forward, hands hovering over her but keeping their distance.

“Mercy.”

Her lungs release a breath. Defeat and exhaustion all carried in one sigh. Brynhildr smiles when she closes her eyelids. 

He is all she has. She is all he has. It was foolish of her to put her own health aside. Acting as if she was still immortal. Acting as if she can’t die.

Her life is not endless anymore. Her wounds scream so. The empty place resting on her back reminds her of the loss of feathers and flight. Blood will leave her skin now, her heart beat can be stopped. The sharp whip of the truth hurts her skin, but she endures the blow.

Her lungs gather air, letting her youngest sister’s image help push the words out of her mouth.

“I was banished.” She says, slowly raising her gaze up to her warrior’s sepia irises. “I disobeyed Freyja. As punishment, she removed my status as one of her warriors. I am still a Valkyrie, but I am no longer a true one. I am mortal now."

His hands unconsciously lowering to his sides. The stare he focuses on her is much too intense and far away all at once. His lips part. A shuddering breath rolls through his body.

His soul brightens, even the dark part. Then in the same moment, dims to blackness.

“Why?” He breathes.

“I wish to not speak of it.” She answers softly, not a lie. “There is still much I don’t know about you.”

His shoulders lower in her response. His gaze dropping to his lap where his fingers trace a scar beginning on his wrist. The sepia irises hide behind his scrunched eyelids.

He gathers courage as he gathers air into his lungs.

“I was a threat to my clan… a liability.” He begins softly. “I refused to do what I was told to do.”

His eyes open to view the grass but not her, “I understand, Mercy.”

The beautiful lips he possesses close. She stares at his trembling fingers, lightness blooming in her chest at the similar souls they hold. Why he was rejected from his clan is still his secret, but one she will not hunt for. Their stories are still carefully guarded, but it is a comfort that he knows the same ache that plagues her heart.

“But please, you cared for me. Let me take care of you. I can’t lose—I don’t want you to hurt.” He says, raising his head to finally meet hers. His green hair wild and his brow furrowed in concern.

She breathes out. A sigh of acceptance leaving her lungs. It wounds her soul to need such care and treatment as to not _die_. Even as the thought plays through her mind she almost laughs.

A Valkyrie dying. Not possible.

A Valkyrie falling is another matter. That in itself opens the door to death. It is all too real, too much for her passionate soul to hold without scorching her fingertips. Even burning her tongue. Her mortality spitting in her face. The height she fell from was greater than she could have ever braced for. Yet, she would retake that plunging step again and again for the sake of one good soul. His soul.

Her Heart.

She doesn’t wish for him to know of her loss, but she can’t put off her wounds any longer.

She shifts her head to rest along her outstretched arms. Her chin buries into the orange scarf warming her neck.

“You did not have to give me your scarf.” She says softly.

His tense fingers draw away from outlining his scars. The muscles loosening. “You looked cold.”

The scent of the cloth still evades her sensing. She draws her brow as she sets aside her pride.

“Genji, I need help cleaning the blood away.” She gives in, glancing at his suddenly still figure. “A new change of bandages is needed after that.”

The strong muscles on his physique seem to have locked in place at this. He swallows roughly, before bowing his head slightly. “Whatever you need is done. Please know that I will respect you, as both a women and Valkyrie.”

The blow at her pride is soften at his wavering soul. Her ribcage filling with light at his pledge. He is honorable, as if he as not already proven that.

“I know.” She reassures him. His muscles still hold tension but his gaze is lighter. “Take my seax and cut off the bandages. Remember your still recovering so don’t push yourself.”

Genji catches himself before he scoffs again. “You tell me that while you were just unconscious from lack of blood and care to yourself.”

They both share a tight smile, but the stress is evident in both of them.

The knife lies beside her staff and chest plate, still in its holster. He must have taken it off her while attempting to care for the bleeding on her back. Genji takes her weapon, shifting to her side now. Mercy grips the backpack resting underneath her. The scarf is warm against her cheeks.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he says. His hesitation barely seen out of the corner of her eyes.

“I will, but you won’t.” She promises, tugging up the corners of her lips. He takes her confidence and uses it to steel himself.

The touch of his hand raises goosebumps along her skin. She holds back a shudder, burying her nose into his scarf. He stalls at this, but continues to wedge up her bandages with cool fingers. The cold end of the seax chills her skin as it barely hovers against her. With a soft snip, her bandages loosen from around her chest.

“Mercy?” He asks.

“One moment,” she speaks. She reaches one arm up to her shoulder, biting the inside of her cheek as to not flinch at provoking her wounds. She grips the blood stain cloth between trembling fingers and tugs it up through her shirt. The sticky sounds of separation echo while the movement pulls at her wounds. She does not stop. Once it’s free, Genji takes it from her and sets it aside.

Her skin breathes at the touch of cool air, but it only irritates her bloody stumps. She twists her head to look. The dry blood dark and flaky across her back mixed with bright red pooling around two spots just underneath her shoulder blades. Her eyes flicker up to Genji only to behold his panic stricken face.

“How could you have gone this long with this?” He asks, his voice tight. His thigh pressing warmly against her ribcage as he leans over her.

The mess of blood hides the truth of her wounds, but it is a matter of time before he sees it. She will deny the truth he views with his own eyes. It is what she must do to prevent further harm to his soul.

“ _Lama går om han måste_ ,” she speaks. Upon noticing Genji’s blank expression, she translate, “The lame runs if he has to.”

His jaw tightens as he stands up.

“No, she does not. Not if I’m here.” He says steely. He leaves, retrieving a strip of ripped cloth and a cup of water from the river. Returning back to her, he apologizes for the lack of cleanliness. She’s not optimistic about the water either, but the river is all they have to use.

“Try to avoid directly touching my wounds,” she advises. “Just clean away the blood as much as you can. Having dry blood near broken skin can result in infection.

She notes Genji locking his jaw to not rebuke her again. Her pride is already set aside for this. She’s too low to feel offense anymore.

“I will be alright.” She softly reminds him. The soaked cloth touches her skin and makes her body shiver. She buries deeper into his scarf.

“My apologies.” He murmurs. Whether it’s for the water, or for her condition, she does not know.

His hands are gentle as he scrapes the blood off her back. The cloth fills so quickly with red that Genji stops several times to clean the rag and continue again. Although the water is cold, it makes her soul lighten at the dirty feeling slowly being erased.  The cleanliness is freeing, and her wounds are at least better off than a few moments ago.

True to her prediction, Genji does not accidently harm her. He leans back in silent relief at this.

“I’ve clean away all the blood,” he says, putting aside the filthy rag. His hands reach for the bandages but stop. Mercy turns her head to watch his eyes focus on her wounds.

His lips part open as his brow draws together in thought. The two stump like wounds on her back are too unnatural to be simply human. Genji is piecing it all together. His mind is picking apart her first statements about having wings.

“Genji, I need the bandages.” She raises her voice, jerking him away from gazing at her back. “Quickly now.”

“Mercy,” He speaks, his sepia irises shake. “Did you—”

“I do not wish to speak of it,” She says sharply. His face startles at this, his jaw slacking. His gaze searches her for one moment, desperately trying to find the truth but only receiving more answers in return. He clenches his jaw before turning to grab the bandages in his tense grip. His eyes downcast as he unravels the gauze.

The darkness in his soul spreads further along, tainting the light. Mercy bites the inside of her cheek as she looks away.

She’s lying to him, keeping things from him. Of course he’s angry, and now he’s forced to care for her. How pathetic. She hurts him and begs for help in one breath.

“How best would it be to put the gauze on?” He murmurs through his teeth, head still ducked.

She clears her throat, swallowing heavily.

“I will sit up then we will dress the wounds.” She answers albeit thickly. She shifts and leans up on her arms. As she bites her cheek, she brings her legs underneath her, then attempts to rise up. She falters as the pain attacks her, but two warm hands grasp her shoulders gently and pull her up. The strong fingers leave her skin the moment she’s able to support herself.

She breathes out, bracing for the next part. Her mind still remembers the heat from his touch, but she manages to focus on the task at hand.

Straightening her back, her fingers are already pulling at the fabric that covers her shoulder. The trembling within her muscles are hopefully hidden from his view. “I am going to remove my shirt, then we will wrap my wounds.”

It’s odd. She has never bore her skin to a man, much less a mortal. She never thought she would. Sitting here, in a peaceful meadow with her warrior just mere inches away, it touches her soul. Her warrior is the first to see her like this, and she doesn’t wish for it any other way. Though, she does wish it was under a happier occasion.

Goosebumps rise on her skin as the yellow material falls to her waist. He keeps absolutely still in her peripheral vision and for a moment, her mind wanders.

What does he see? Her back is exposed to him completely except for the bra straps. Pale skin without marks. A covering of the blood and bones. The slight movement of her lungs just within. The wounds ruining the painting that it could be.

Does he find it beautiful? Does he want it as a man wants women? Does he see her soul through all the vanities of mortals?

Does he see her?

“Genji,” She lets his name go from her lungs, barely turning her head to move her arm. Her fingers waiting for the bandage. “We must pass the gauze back and forth because I cannot move my arms that far.”

He does not move, his head ducked and now his eyes are closed. Scrunched tightly as if enduring tremendous amounts of pain.

“Heart—Genji?” She says, catching herself on his names.

“Mercy,” He nearly gasps out in a murmur, “Why do you trust me so much? You have not told me everything about yourself but you allow me to… do this. I don’t understand.”

His desperate question startles her heart. Looking forward, her gaze wonders over the river. The cold spring air and the presence of her warrior are both brushing against her skin. Taking her breath while she fights to not turn around to face him. If Freyja were to bless her, she would use that power to let Genji observe his own soul. To see the bright and darkness all mixed together to create her Heart. A kind, determined man that is worthy of her resurrection. 

“If you could see yourself like I do, you would understand.” She answers quietly.

In a small movement, he raises his head. His fingers tightly grasping the bandages. For a moment, his soul flickers brightly, and then the darkness reappears.

Her teeth are leaving permanent impressions on the inside of her cheek. She cracks her jaw open just as he finally places the gauze on her waiting fingers. Biting down on her words, she takes it. Moving slowly, she feels him press the end of the bandage against her right stump just as she crosses it just under her breasts. In perfect synchronization, he takes the offered roll of gauze just as she presents it. Just as gently, he crosses it over her stumps, and over the opposite shoulder.

His fingers overlap hers, and she wishes to take them and hold them. Her touch chasing all the darkness in his soul away. The frustration of seeing him falling, but not being able to catch him jerks at her heart. Tugging the dark cord of despair tighter around her ribcage.

But she must not harm him anymore then she already has. She keeps her lips still and passes the gauze with his heat. Her thoughts silently wondering if he wishes to be anywhere else but here.

She stills her flinch, and hopes he doesn’t take note.


	8. Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad to finally have this one out because other characters are finally introduced! Also, if you notice any mistakes please let me know. 
> 
> Genji and Mercy retrieve something important. They meet other warriors.

“Stop,” she murmurs. He pulls back and leans against the wall. One arm presses against her torso, gently pushing her out of sight of the two men turning the corner. Her fingers grip her staff tightly, ready to empower her warrior at a moment’s notice. They hold perfect still, not even breathing. The last echoes of the men’s voices disappear, and Genji silently turns.

“You should go back, I can do this on my own.” His voice is low but his eyes keep darting through the area. He balances on the balls of his feet, and his fingers twitch for a weapon but are only unsatisfied.

Lifting her chin, she holds his gaze. “No. You are my warrior. I am able to overlook you and so I shall.” Her tone leaves no more room for argument, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if he does anyways.

With a defeated tilt of his head, he stalls for another moment on her face before focusing back on the open street. It’s close to the main building, and his room is just a little ways away. With one hand, he holds it open before signaling with a fist. Quickly, they dart across the open area, and make it to cover inside a building.

She never imagine she would see his home, not like this. They are trespassers, coming to take what little valuables Genji owns. A sword so he can properly defend his Valkyrie, money for survival, and other necessities. Even with a few days rests, she is able to keep up with his pace, but he still worries. Her wounds bleed, and the bandages never seem to stop filling with red. Her only concern is of watching her warrior. His strength has returned, but her heart flutters at the thought of him in danger.

The running agitates her wounds, but they are not as tender since they have been properly treated. Genji expressed his strong disapproval of her accompanying him, but she would not let him wander into this hostile territory alone. They shouldn’t be here at all, but the need of his sword is greater than her preferences.

Moving swiftly, Mercy focuses on his footsteps. His steps are sure and precise. His body as strong as before he was cut down. Ascending up the stairs, she stops at his outstretched hand. In the moonless night he tilts his green hair, listening. She stands still in the doorway. Her senses focusing on the souls wandering through the place.

A small walkway is the only thing placed between them and his personal quarters. The small bridge will expose them entirely. It will only be for three seconds, but if they are spotted, they will have to fight. Weaponless and weak.

A man strolls past the building they reside it. Inhaling air, she holds it in her lungs until he passes. Her warrior stands like a statue marbled after the greatest heroes of the ages. Stone still and strong. A few men travel in the temple across the street, but no souls have sight of the walkway now.

“Go,” she quietly urges, and she pushes after Genji as he takes off. Feeling the stars glow down on her, she exhales. Her legs pumping quickly beside him as they cross the bridge. The moment stretches on and toys with her heart. Making the beats pump faster as they race for their lives. The open air feeling like a poisonous trap waiting to spring upon them.

In one swift motion, Genji flings open a door and holds it for her entrance. She runs inside and he quickly steps in after her, closing it as quietly as possible. Her lungs cry for air and she delivers to them. Inhaling through her fingers to lessen the noise.

“Mercy?” He asks through the darkness.

She gives a jerk of her head that he might not even see, “Hurry, Genji.”

He’s swift in rushing through the room. Her adjusted eyes make out a bed, and a closet on the far end. Numerous articles of clothing are thrown to the floor, and glass bottles refract glints of light. Messy, disorganized. He throws the closet door open and rips a bag out of the darkness. Dropping it in the center of the room, he goes to the dresser pressed against the wall.

She would love to explore his personal space. The place they’re breaking into what he once called home. He has simply told her he cannot return here, a part of his soul blackening at the thought of it. It’s out of necessity they come for his weapons. He insisted upon being able to properly act as her warrior, and they need money that he has stored away.

It’s a flimsy, thinly veiled plan at best, but they know not what else to do. 

Stepping lightly, Mercy goes to the bag. Her fingers grasp it gingerly. The thumps of items hitting the floor make her start. Focusing through the darkness, she makes out one more bulging sack on the floor.

“He hasn’t touched my room…” Genji whispers as if to a ghost, and Mercy looks to him. His gaze rests on his unmade sheets.

His soul dims, the blackness eating away more light. It’s a flash of anger inside of her, but she wishes his cowardly brother could face what he’s done.

Genji hesitates in the darkness, but she moves quickly as she scoops up the bags containing what she can only assume is the money. Taking after her lead, he inhales so deeply the sound reaches her before going to the opposite end of the room. There, a stand holds several weapons. A slice of metal refracts light from outside. Looking down upon it, his hands hover over the blade. His fingers reach for it, but don’t actually take it, muscles trembling.

“Heart.” She whispers a reminder.

His hands move then, reaching for the scabbards and strapping them onto his body. He fits a large dagger onto the belt wrapping around his waist. Finally, his hands take a large curved blade. He holds it for a moment, his grip familiar on the handle. The sword was made for his soul, her Valkyrie eyes see that. In the darkness, her warrior stands with his weapons.

“Let’s be off,” she speaks in a low voice, coming to his side. He feels her presence, and slides the sword into the scabbard across his back.

“Wait,” He breaks away from her to go back to his closet. She follows quickly behind, but her eyes are watching the glowing souls through the walls of his room. A group of three men are approaching dangerously close to the base of the building. Her eyes catch another figure far away from the temple grounds, nestled in a tree. A sniper waiting to receive a golden reward for their mistakes. Two other personages stand just outside the gates. The odds are against them, and Genji stalls for another moment.

“Here,” he speaks quietly. The presence of his arms and the warmth of his body is suddenly all too close. Cloth is pressed against her hair, and his hands finish wrapping it across her head. His middle and index finger brush against her cheek for a moment. Soft and quick. The rich blue cloth hides her face. It stretches across her mouth, but allows an opening for her eyes but still covers her hair. In the darkness, Genji quickly wraps a white cloth over himself. Effectively hiding the scars and his green hair.

Taking the backpack filled with the money, he shoulders it before taking the lead once again. She stalls. The trail of his touch against her face still pressing against her mind. Shuddering through a breath, she clutches her staff tighter, and joins him at the doorway. They wait in the opening.

“Sniper, towards the east,” she quietly warns. His head tilts back towards her, obvious confusion written in the crinkles of his brow.

“They’ve never had a sniper here before,” he speaks in a low voice, his words muffled through the makeshift hood. The uncertainty even more evident in his tone. It must unsettle him to not know as much of his clan as he thought he had, but they do not have time to dwell on the matter.

“We must hurry, Genji,” Mercy urges softly, her hand touching the crook of his elbow.

Snapping his head towards the street, he scans the area. Mercy watches the two figures outside the gates. A large one occupied with a smaller figure. They hold still against the wall, unmoving.

“Go,” he breathes. Running only a few inches behind his quick from, they cross the bridge. Feeling eyes upon her back, Mercy lifts her gaze for a moment in their vulnerability upon the walkway. The sniper sights are set upon them, Mercy knows this, yet she does not fear.

She is familiar with this soul.

Entering the building without difficulty, they rush down the stairs. Once they reach the ground and the doorway, Genji draws his sword. Balancing it carefully, he waits silently. It’s familiarity to his hands unmistakable.

Two men pass through the street, but they’re hidden well enough. Genji tenses, but her fingers press against his shoulder, and holds him there. The figures travel on their way, and Mercy allows her lungs to move again.

Running as a shadow across the path, they come to a low wall. In one fluid motion, Genji sheaths his sword and kneels. She places her foot in his linked hands and heaves herself over the wall with his aid. Getting to the other side, she lands on her feet. The jarring impact sends tremors of pain through her wounds, but she bites her cheek.

Soft as a feather, Genji hops beside her. Taking in his sepia irises, she catches the sniper following their movement. The figures on the outside of the gates, only a few yards around the corner of the wall, begin moving. At the speed at which they race, the souls will be upon them in just moments.

“Run,” She breathes, snatching his hand before jerking his arm in the opposite direction. Breaking twigs and going through thick shrubbery announces their fleeing.  In response, a sound of blasting jet fuel sounds just behind him, and Genji pushes Mercy to the side. She stumbles but catches herself among the thicker foliage of the forest skirting the walls of temple.

Thick, heavy thumps signal the arrival of the large soul. Twisting in place, she empowers Genji with a thick blue line of energy just as he takes out his sword.

The bullets ricocheting are the warning bells to any persons nearby. The redirected fire attacks a pink machine just a yard away from Genji. The tank crumbles to the ground. Her warrior moves, standing in front of Mercy at the sound of small footsteps. Crouching low, he prepares to spring forward but her hand shoots out to stop him. Her grip tight as to tether him there.

A girl stands poised, her small gun aimed at Genji with her mouth held strongly. Her locks of brown hair brush against her shoulders, and bangs highlight her eyes. Small, triangle patches of paint decorate her cheeks, and Mercy remembers the super market.

“Don’t attack her,” Mercy says, and the girl’s eyes narrow in her direction.

“Shimada, you’re coming with us. Your companion as well.” She speaks in English, voice accented and firm. The underlining tone is daring him to challenge her, even as she does stand without her tank. Her soul reveals her nervousness, but the determination overshadows it.

He glances back at her, but she holds firm.

“Let us be. I am not associated with them or their works.” Genji addresses the girl, but his sword does not lower.

“The youngest Shimada brother not associated with his own family’s empire? Funny, now hands up.” She does not falter, and her jaw hardens.

Her eyes flicker to the back of his head at the mention of empire, finding his hood has fallen to expose green hair.

Approaching footsteps come from just behind the girl, and it causes her to glance backwards for just one moment. Mercy jerks Genji aside, and they sprint off through the forest.

Bullets embed into bark just inches from their fleeing forms. Orders of stopping echo through the trees, but Mercy guides Genji along with her hand. Her wisdom easily marking where they will meet fatality, and guiding them away from such events. Dodging and weaving through the dark trunks and dense shrubbery, they begin to create distance from their pursuers.

Just a few yards ahead, she senses danger for her warrior. A small but sharp drop onto lower ground. Mercy pushes forward. Her warrior blindly following the tug of her hand.

The edge comes, and Mercy does not slow as she drops down into it. Ahead by only a few inches, she twirls on the balls of her feet. Throwing her arms wide, she catches Genji as he collides into her chest plate. A grunt of surprise leaves his lungs along with squeaks of pain from her. Unable to settle the aching in her back, she pushes him down onto the ground while smashing her teeth together. The rush of agony barely contained behind her jaw. Landing on top of him, her hand shoots out to cover his mouth before he can make noise. Genji’s back is against a wall of roots and earth. His sword resides by his side, touching the ground but still held firm between his fingers.

With a pray of gratitude, Genji stays still. She leans so closely against his chest it’s as if they’re falling asleep on another night besides the river. Her lips are close enough to feel the air from her lungs touch against the knuckles she uses to cover his lips. Her head is duck, silently trying to keep herself as still and small as possible. A shiver runs down her spine, but she does not look up to see if he is truly looking back at her.

The faint outlines of the souls chasing after them grow nearer. A band of warmth wraps around her lower waist as he tenses underneath her. Her body hyperaware of her legs bent alongside his thighs. He’s prepared to shift her aside at a moment’s notice. She tentatively lifts her eyes.

In the darkness, his makeshift hood leaves him completely exposed. Her fingers press against his lips, and his breath touches her knuckles. His chest moves with the need for air, a small motion that falls in rhythm with her own breathing. His skin shifts underneath her fingers as he tries to calm his system down. Pain from slamming against his body earlier pulsates sharply. The jarring impact had pushed against her healing skin and now it cries with a sting. Tears of pain prick at the corner of her eyes, but she focuses on her warrior’s soul in front of her. Neither make a sound. Only holding their breath as the souls come in on their location. The footsteps loud and crushing through the foliage.

“I ain’t seein’ nothin’ out here. Hana, you gettin’ anythin’?” A male voice speaks English in an accent Mercy has not heard often. It’s rough, and the vowels are drawn out. It echoes close by. Inhaling deeply, she holds her lungs still. Genji shifts the sword, his fingers pressing against her hip.

“They went around that tree, down there. I didn’t lose them,” The girl speaks in a teasing manner, tone edge with mock superiority. Intertwining footsteps stomp dangerously close.

Mercy presses herself against him, turning her cheek so it brushes against his nose. The only movement is the sharp beating of both their hearts. In the dark forest, Mercy worries that they’ll hear it. Her eyes look up beyond the dirt wall they press themselves against, and she holds her breath.

“Ya lookin’ to fight without yer MEKA?” Comes the light response, but the heavy undertone isn’t missed.

Their movement shifts to just the right of their cover. Mercy can barely see the tip of a brown hat as it quickly passes by. His arm presses ever so lightly against her waist.

“It will be here in a few moments, but I can handle myself. I’m not a child,” comes her stiff and breathy response, suddenly losing the warmth she was using only moments prior.

Their running forms carry farther away from them. His heat is warming her skin.

“Alright, alright. Just don’t be gettin’ yerself shot up, ya hear? Last thing I need is Ana’s wraith upon my soul.” The man leaves the subject with a grumbling tone.

A giggle faintly echoes as their voices softly drift away. Genji breathes against her hand.

"Now where’d ya say ya last saw ‘em?” The man’s words barely enter Mercy’s ears, but she allows her lungs to finally function again.

Her head turns back, slowly trailing her gaze over his face. She falls into eyelashes that dance in the darkness. His sepia irises holding a light that she longs to touch. Her soul being so close to his it causes her chest to burn. To forget every thought of coldness and isolation in her mind and letting her wings unfurl. He sets her free.

She freezes at the lapse of judgment upon remembering her wings. They are no more to her. The wounds upon her shoulder blades are enough to enforce that. The presence of his arm against her waist leaves. The cool night rushes in on the absence of heat.

Still feeling his breath against her hand, she removes it from his mouth. Her eyes drawn downward.

The movement in her field of vision startles her, but only briefly. His hand moves as slow as the night. Catching her breath, his fingernail touches the corner of her lip before taking the edge of the blue wrap. It must have fallen while they were running, for she did not notice it exposing her lower face before. Her warrior fixes the blue cloth so it hides a part of her once again, and quickly drops his hand away. Her irises flicker over his cheekbones before settling back on his eyes. A swirl of emotion upon a canvas that is still being created. Fear, uncertainty, strength, determination. All lightening up his irises, but they hold to her. She blinks in the darkness, still feeling her legs right along his.

Her hand that was just covering his lips reaches for him again. This time, she fixes his make shift mask, and his eyes brighten. A hidden smile.

Turning away, she looks for their pursuers. She barely spots their souls through the trees. Small candles in the dark forest.

“Make haste,” she whispers into his ear, before sliding off of him.

Their hands find each other’s in the darkness. She grips her staff in the other. Running, they slip through the forest and away from the two warriors.


	9. Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication finally happens oh boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled getting this chapter how I wanted it to be so if you notice mistakes please let me know

“Are you warm?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He hovers over her, stalling before turning away. In the darkness, their eyes have long ago adjusted. His hands quickly sort out the assorted items grabbed from what was once his home. Swords and shurikens rest on his person. He now wears clothing that properly fit him.  Mostly black with decorations of forest green. His face is still open to her, showing his scars. She does not truly see the marks of mortality, but his darkening soul is telling her enough of his unspoken thoughts. Since the retrieval of his weapons, his glowing soul continues to develop bitter and weak.

Her fingers long to reach out and touch him, somehow reach his soul through his skin. To wipe away the stains and let him purely shine.

“Heart—Genji.” Her tongue stumbles for a moment. Her voice beckons him to her immediately, his hands ready to grab another shirt to pull over her already layered jackets.

Her teeth dig into the inside of her cheek for a moment before she dare speak.

“Why did that warrior mean by your family’s empire?” She murmurs in the forest of the night. The babbling of the river beside them nearly drowns her words, but he stills, hearing her clearly.

The rumbling river covers their traveling, but it also hides any indication of someone coming upon them. At the moment, it’s a gamble they must make. The stars are halfway through their viewing, and they stop to rest before the morning comes. Weary as her body is from carrying her wounds, she does not find sleep peaceful at the moment. The girl’s words trap in her skull. She truly does not know the only person she has left, but that will change shortly. His flicking soul tells her so.

His eyes glance over hers. A thousand battles raging behind his eyelashes as he parts his lips. In a slow, delicate motion, he kneels, but his body is sideways from her. Only the left side of his face is in her view. He does not move for some time, simply gazing at the scarred hands curled up in his lap. She breathes patiently, only watching him as she pulls the orange scarf tighter against her skin.

His eyelids slip shut as he lets go of air, brow trembling as it draws tightly.

“Mercy… my family is a strong clan. We have been for many generations. That power comes from wealth and connections and our… business.”

A nervous glance allows him to open his eyes, but he does not look at her face. She wishes he would. Just to see what expression he’s holding back. His telling of truth is making her soul uneasy, and it makes her more so because it’s from _him_.

“Weapons, drugs, assassinations… among other things is what the Shimada Empire is built upon. Anything but noble.”

He swallows roughly, his Adam’s apple moving against the cords of his throat. His eyes watching his hands tighten into fists but not her. Not the stun expression upon her face. A flash of blinding fear strikes in the center of her chest as her mind begins to scatter in all directions of what his words could mean. She breathes out as he continues, driving on like he’s cleansing himself of poison.

“The eldest brother takes over the clan when their father has passed. And my brother did… Hanzo did.”

Mercy mutters a curse in her native tongue into the orange scarf. In the darkness, she’s not sure if the night is playing tricks on her mind, or if Genji flashes a wiry smile.

“Being the younger brother does not give you much responsibility. Nothing really. I was free to do what I pleased for quite a long time. Parties and drinks and women—”

Now she knows the startled look from the corner of his eye is not a trick of shadow, but his genuine reaction. Her brow draws tightly, but she stays silent. Part of it from wondering why that would bother her so. It shouldn’t. Her warrior has a past just like her. Of course he had known lovers…

Still, an ache blooms in her chest.

“I did not spend much time with the clan or their business,” he coughs as he quickly shoves out his next words. “It did not interest me.”

The words offer her a little comfort, but it warms her body for only a moment.

“The elders… and Hanzo, told me, warned me that if I did not stop my shameful acts and be part of what my father had kept steady for so long, there would be consequences.”

A breath shakes in his lungs, his fingers tightening so that his knuckles glare white. A dark fist clenches Mercy’s heart.

“I was ignorant, thinking I could still be a child and receive punishments suitable for one. The elders arranged a marriage, to the daughter of a notorious clan leader. Just to make a partnership, a deal. That was the only thing they thought I was suitable for.” His jaw clenches, the hard line even more pronounced. “With Hanzo already training to be the clan’s leader, I was only a pawn to be sold off for a little gain.”

Her breaths stop in her mouth, her lips part in anguish. A squeeze from the dark fist in her chest makes her ribs creak in pain. An agony deaminizing her still bleeding wounds on her back. Curling her fingers around the scarf, she uses it as an anchor.

“I didn’t believe he would actually forsake me—even after I refused again and again,” He whispers, still suspended in disbelief. “There was no warning. He only approached with his sword drawn. I could see it on his face. He didn’t look like my brother, he looked like a killer.”

He lifts his head, facing the stars as if pleading for their strength.

“And he hurt me. Until I knew that I wasn’t going to walk away. Until the blood on the floor was making it hard to stand. Until I couldn’t say his name anymore.”

Her heart cracks. A deep, engraved fissure ripping through the muscle. She reaches for him, her fingers sliding down his wrist until his palm welcomes hers.

“Heart,” She leans forward, trying to reassure herself that he’s still with her. “Look at me, please.”

A statue in the darkness, he doesn’t move. A shudder leaves his mouth, breaking his stone skin, before he bows his head down.

“Heart,” She squeezes her fingers through his, feeling the bumps and lines of scars decorating even his hands. “I will never let him hurt you. I will never let anyone hurt you.”

His head tilts, lips parting silently. Looking at her through half closed eyelids, he glides his gaze over her form.

“Mercy,” a nearly inaudible plead, “why do you call me heart?”

She lifts her head, but only for a moment, before her other hand reaches through the darkness. Her fingertips pressing through his shirt.

“Because I can see your soul. You are loving, and bright, and full of life. You have such a beautiful heart, it burns with your spirit.” She tells him, pleading to his very soul to understand. To see his own light, and fight the darkness.

“You are…” _my heart_.

The words only echo inside her chest, for her own understanding. From the moment she saw his spirit, she had fallen. She couldn’t bear the thought of him not living a whole life, and gave up her very wings for it. Every touch, every choice has brought them together. Fate stronger than even Freyja’s judgement.

Valkyries have never fallen for their chosen warriors before. Only stories of such acts has she heard, but all her sisters would be rejecting of such a notion. Mortals falling for Valkyries is to be expected… but that does not mean he is like the rest.

_I never saw you as a fool…_

Göll is wrong. This is not a mistake. He is worth her wings.  

She pulls her hand away, slowly, carefully. The new title given to her murmured through soft lips. Still watching him in the darkness, she shifts closer. Pressing her cheek against his shoulder, she breathes out against the green fabric. The color almost the same shade as his hair.

His body rises gently with his breathing. One exhale passes before he leans his temple against her hair. A slow, cautious motion, but she only closes her eyelids. His warmth blooming against her fingers and cheek. She clutches him tightly, afraid to lose him to the sea of blood he was drowning in. Afraid of not being able to protect him from his own violent thoughts. Afraid of his brother, his clan, what could have been a possible future to a stranger.

“Let’s run away,” he rushes out in a hushed voice.

She only shifts her cheek, almost pressing her lips into his collarbone. “Genji?”

“Mercy, run away with me. We can start over, together.”

Start over. As two simply mortals, holding hands, and sharing heat at night. To wherever they long to go. To beaches or mountains. To a life where they are them, without their past.

To be together, without the burden of memories.

“Let’s run away,” she agrees softly. The squeezing of his palm reassures her soul.

They lie down, never parting fingers as they press close. The darkness and cold is kept at bay by his arms wrapped around her, and her fingers curling through his green hair. For a small moment, his soul flickers brightly, the black edges gone.

She clings to him, his heartbeat anchoring her in the sea of fear and doubt.  

**Author's Note:**

> A Gency AU story because I'm trash and I love them. This AU was inspired by zulsiolbojio.tumblr.com go check their tumblr out. You can find my tumblr here, ribbonshalos.tumblr.com, I write a lot of oneshots for Gency and other ships.


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